Black Moon Rising
by chrysalis escapist
Summary: strange things are happening at home and a series of mysterious crimes and deaths has the CSIs following a trail that may very well lead them into disaster. Mac/Stella, Flack/Angell, Adam/Kendall, Danny/Lindsay, Sid, Hawkes ... chapter 13 finally up
1. Blame it on the moonlight

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own any of the CSI: NY characters.**

**I know I should continue my other stories (and I will!), but I have been planning this for six months now and I finally wanted to get it out.**

**This story is especially for **_**lily moonlight**_**, my first and most faithful reviewer :). In opposition to the chapter title please do not think that you can blame her for the things happening in this story, that was all my bad idea. I doubt that I can do her work any justice with this but I'll give my best.**

Black Moon Rising – Blame it on the moonlight

Headlights fall into the water, are tossed about and sink to the ground, drowning back into darkness. Only the moonlight holds on, skipping gingerly from wavelet to wavelet. She walks on the pavement alongside the river, her curls bouncing in rhythm with her brisk steps. Partly to outrun her thoughts, partly to structure them with the cadence of her walk. She pulls her coat a little tighter. The night is already crisp with the coming season. She enjoys the cool breeze, the promise of snow drifting through her mind. The idea of sparkling white expelling the gloom of her thoughts, lingering on their most recent case.

The sparkle of her green eyes is invisible in the darkness around her, but her eyes are alive, flickering from the glimmering ripples of the river to the passing headlights to the warm gleam of windows looking at her from the other side of the street. She's always enjoyed this illumination of the city. The eyes of houses coming to life, and telling her, our inhabitants are home. The people she works to protect. A light smile brightens her lips.

From cases like this. Three bodies, in as many nights. It may not seem like a good idea to wander the night, given the nature of the case, but she feels she's not a target. She knows how to defend herself. There might be a killer lurking behind one of those windows, but not a monster, not in that sense. She knows the monsters are just a story, although there is a truth at the core. Count Dracula, really a tyrant exerting dreadful deaths on his enemies. Impaling them. Maybe the belief that vampires can be killed by stakes through the heart is a sort of revenge. But whose idea was it that they would turn into a pile of dust? The victims they are now looking at certainly didn't.

They are lying on Sid's neatly metallic tables. Cold light shining down on them. He sure wouldn't have dust around them. And it will take a while yet before they do turn to dust.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. They had been dead before the stake had been driven through their hearts. But not so long that one could assume they'd spontaneously turn into dust then … she shakes her head, no, someone is playing a game with them. She clasps her fingers around the railing separating her position from the river. Cold metal, the feeling runs through her as she stares into the black depths of the river in between the floating, silver strands of moonlight.

-o-

Flack looks up at the moon, hanging over his head like a lampion. Burning its way through layers of mist and smog. Full moon. Lovers' moon. Yeah, sure. Well, maybe for some, but the majority of people just seems to be going crazy on a night like this. Keeping him from spending a night under the moon with someone he has come to like, a lot. That's not entirely true. He does get to spend the night with her. But the atmosphere is far from romantic. He looks down at the body again, sprawled out on the ground before him. Body number four. A sigh escapes his lips, in unison with Angell.

A splintered piece of wood projects from the woman's body, seems to reach for the moon. No blood around the wound. Her eyes lie open, the misty air reflecting in them. She looks pale, and sad, troubled. He wonders if she was afraid of dying, if she saw it coming. How was she really killed? And could vampires fear death too? With an angry gesture he brushes that thought from his mind.

This is real life. A very real victim with a name, family, friends, an occupation. And that certainly wasn't 'vampire'. Though it seems that their killer wants to give the impression that he has taken up the occupation of 'vampire slayer'.

-o-

Sid bends over one of the victims, a male. Pale under the cold morgue light. He runs his hand, paled by a latex glove, along the frozen body. Pulls out the wood wedged through the man's ribs. It must have taken a lot of force. But given the fact that he had already been dead and on the ground, not as much. The killer could be anyone weighing over 120 pounds or well trained. If the killer and the person handling the stake were the same.

He continues his investigation of the body, lifting the victim's lips. Teeth looking bloodied. He frowns. It could be porphyria, but that form of it is quite rare. Make-believe? He rubs over the teeth. The color stays on. If it is make-believe it goes deeper. His nose wrinkles in solidarity with his forehead. He moves closer to the mouth and sniffs. Garlic. What vampire would voluntarily eat garlic? A masochistic one? He shakes his head with a smile. That garlic affects people with porphyria hasn't been proven. But whatever is the connection, this case has him interested.

-o-

Mac opens another folder. Moonlight is filtering through the window of his office, frosting over his desk. The air feels wintry around him, cold rising from the pictures he sees before him. His hand travels over his tired eyes. Apart from this case troubling him, too many deaths in too few days, he feels the fangs of the press closing in. Vampires. He can see reporters licking their teeth for that story.

Tampering with a dead body is considered a crime. Inserting a stake into a dead body is definitely tampering. Even if the person who did it believes that it was for a higher good. A gathering of want-to-be vampire hunters flocking around cemeteries is decidedly not what this city needs. Much less when they might have a serial killer to deal with.

-o-

Something brushes against her. With an instinctive flick of her hand Stella sends it off through the air. A moment later she sees a black speck hit the ground, sort out its eight legs and scurry away from her. _You'd better._ She glowers after it.

She pricks her ears. There's a sound bouncing through the night. A clicking noise, slightly metallic, cold. She turns slowly. It seems to hesitate, staying just out of reach. Trying to avoid her eyes. Trying to avoid being caught. But circling, sneaking closer, longer gaps between each click. She stiffens.

* * *

There you go, first cliffhanger, but just a miniature one to warm up :). Thank you very much for taking the time to read. I'd love to know what you think of it so please don't hesitate to leave a review. All thoughts and comments are appreciated any time, and replied to where possible.


	2. Paraselene

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews, I loved reading them :). Also thanks to **_**autumngold,**_** sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. And thanks for the favorites and alerts; I hope you will continue to enjoy this.**

Black Moon Rising – Paraselene

Danny bends over the table and aims carefully. He blinks, and suddenly remembers one of the last times he has done this. Lindsay, and his thoughts spiral out of control. Ruben, Rikki, … and Lindsay, or not. Just a moment of being overwhelmed and not considering. For just one moment his aim is a fraction off and he watches the chain reaction he has caused. Ruben, Rikki, Lindsay … if Ruben had been a little bit further ahead, if he hadn't sent him home, if …. For a moment Danny wonders randomly if it has a meaning that the ball he has just sent down was black, a meaning deeper than that he has just lost this game.

With a smirk his opponent stretches an expectant hand across the billiard table. Danny chucks a wad of dollar bills into it, grabs his empty bottle and trots off to the bar. He smacks the bottle down together with another couple of bills.

"Gimme another one!" Before the barman can turn to do so Danny's pager goes off. "Scratch that. I've to be off, sorry."

The barman replies with an it-happens-shrug. Danny gathers his money back together and walks out into the moonlit night, oblivious to several glances following him.

-o-

Holding her breath Stella observes the darkness, reaching into it with her eyes and ears. The clicking sound slows down. Then it stops. Ready to pounce? But Stella has figured out which direction it came from and faces that way. Another hesitant click, and another. It doesn't sound like a predator. In the predominant silence Stella becomes aware of the sounds of the river behind her, wave after wave lapping against its banks, producing a background hum.

She spots a movement, like a swath of fog curling in the moonlight. Another step, and the figure becomes clearer. Long, sleek white hair frames a porcelain face. Ashen-blue eyes like moon crater shadows, Stella feels them scanning her. She smiles, signaling that there's no need to be afraid. A white coat floating around a slim body, and the young woman disappears into the darkness again.

Another sound disrupts the calm night, one that Stella has come to dislike. Especially in the last few nights. With a sigh she pulls her pager from her pocket and reads off the direction. It's not far away, she decides to take the subway.

-o-

A hum floats through the silvery atmosphere of reflective material. Sid has performed the Y-incision and now bends over the cold body to examine the inner organs. What is left of them anyway. He frowns a bit. If the cause of death had something to do with the heart it's not exactly going to be easy to find out. If there have been previous wounds the path the stake has torn into that organ most likely covers them.

Sid scoops the contents from the victim's stomach to get a closer estimate of the time of death, and maybe some valuable hints concerning the victim's last meal. He takes a couple of steps away from the body and studies the container in his hand. Finds himself staring at it.

An assistant is about to pass him and stops. "Is that blood?"

Sid gives him half a nod. "Sure looks … and smells like it."

He casts the victim another glance, a touch of uneasiness to his curiosity.

-o-

Flack flips his cell closed and slips it back into his pocket. His eyes and thoughts linger on the body before him. He wishes he could turn away from it, but there's something about this scene. Something that reminds him of watching horror movies as a little kid. This fascination, not wanting to look but not being able to look away either. Apart from the fact that his sister would have laughed at him if he had.

"So, Mac knows. And Danny and Stella will be here soon. Any suggestions what we do until then?" he addresses Angell.

There's no reply.

He looks up and around to see her not standing next to him where she had been a couple of moments before, but several yards away. _I hate it when that happens._ She seems to be engaged in blocking someone's view of the body. Someone with a camera.

"Guess that answers my question." he mutters, approaching the two.

-o-

Mac's head sinks into his hands. Four bodies, four nights. He turns in his chair and looks outside, up at the moon. Shining down on him so serenely. Ignorant of the havoc it might be causing down here on earth. He wonders if there is a closer connection, not just the full moon letting people's hormones go haywire. A cult maybe, but then it would have had to be three nights; one before, one on, and one after the full moon. And besides, he adds to that thought with a weary smirk, those were werewolves, not vampires.

He switches off the stark light; it's beginning to hurt his eyes. He doesn't need to look at the pictures any longer anyway. He knows every pixel of them by heart. Every heartbeat reverberating in his head. Too soon he'll have the fourth file on his desk. And he knows it won't look any less gruesome in broad daylight. But still he waits for the sun to rise.

-o-

Stella takes the moonlit steps down into the subway station, pondering for a moment why these places don't look more welcoming. Desolate despite the bright lights inside. Unusually quiet. She takes the appropriate turns to get to the line and direction she needs. Her steps resound hollowly in the corridors.

Only those people seem to be around who have no other choice. Of course there's a tight lid on the cases. But such news has a way of leaking. And since when does the press need to be told about something like this? The thought is accompanied by a tired smirk. Vultures are circling, and people go into hiding.

If they can. And also with the exception of those weirdoes who never get anything anyway. Stella sees a small group of people gathered near the tracks, waiting for the next train. They seem to be huddling together, at the same time wishing not to get too close to the others who are also strangers. One man striding back and forth, breaking through them like a wolf through a flock of sheep. Throwing meaningless words at them. They avoid his eyes, try to avoid him.

Stella stops at a little distance and gets his attention. Immediately his stride aims for her; quick, seemingly determined steps. A muck colored coat flaps behind his burly figure. She meets his eyes. An oddly lifeless glow in them, demonic.

* * *

Eh, yeah, another small cliffhanger. As far as I can see this story is likely to move from one cliff to the next … but all those who leave a review will get ropes to hold on to ;).

Thank you very much for taking the time to read. I'd love to know what you think of it so please don't hesitate to leave a review. All thoughts and comments are appreciated any time, and replied to where possible.


	3. A god's wrath?

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews, I loved reading them. Always good to hear from my readers****, please continue. Thanks also for the favorites and alerts; I hope you will all continue to enjoy this story.**

Black Moon Rising – A god's wrath?

Another step, another second ticks by, and the man's eyes lock with Stella's. Hollow black circles, not baring a soul. Just a piercing stare. Stella doesn't blink, she has some glares of her own. Another step, and he swerves to the right, flaps down on the nearest bench, gazing ahead. He doesn't stop muttering.

_What a freak._ True, it might not be his fault, he might be ill. But she thinks it's far more likely that he blew his own mind doing drugs. And she doesn't like the fact that he's prancing about here scaring people. Never mind that he might step up any time and do something worse.

She's glad when the train arrives. Not because she wants to get out of this place, though that's a plus. She wants to get to work. Solve this case, for the sake of the city … and for the sake of Mac. When was the last time he has slept properly? She sighs, solve this case and there'll be another one to keep him awake too soon. That's the way he is. She smiles. That's the way she is too. And each telling the other one to go home and get some rest. She doesn't let the rattling purr of the train lull her.

-o-

Adam bows over a piece of evidence they have gathered from the first victim. Hoping to find out more. A male in his early twenties, fair hair, fair complexion, pale blue eyes. That much they know. Probably didn't go outside much, and if he worked hard it was not with his hands. Nobody misses him. No family, friends, colleagues, neighbors. Nobody seems to say too bad he had to die.

He glances over at Kendall on the other side of the table. She looks tired, having agreed like the others to do a double shift. He feels a bit sorry for her, but also pleasantly reminded of something. Waking up next to her, her looking so tousled and sleepy. It's been a while now and he still doesn't know how it happened. Not because he had a blackout, he just doesn't understand. It doesn't seem to be her style, and much less is it his. And what has happened since then? What are they to each other? What evidence does he have? With a sigh his thoughts are back on the case again.

-o-

Lindsay rubs her eyes and focuses on the screen again. It doesn't help, too many hours of staring at an assemblage of bright pixels. Her eyes burn. Trying to work out who their second victim might have been. She hates this; she wants a name to the number. Facing parents or partners and telling them a loved one was murdered is bad. Letting them still have the hope of a reunion is worse.

Missing persons. She lets her eyes travel across the features displayed before her again and again. She blinks as they seem to morph, rubs her eyes again. But she keeps seeing Ruben, and Rikki, … and Danny. She turns away from the monitor but the image of him lingers on. Thoughts begin to fill her head like cobwebs.

The moment she had heard what happened. Ruben, stretched out, so still. The look on Danny's face and how he had closed up. She knows she can't expect him to be over it yet. How long had it taken her? Has she gotten over it or is she just able to talk about it? That he doesn't talk to her … no, she can't blame him. Not when she had closed herself up too. Maybe it's childish to bear a grudge. When children die … and given the circumstances of Ruben's death she knows that Danny feels guilty.

She had felt guilty, knowing full well that she couldn't have done anything to prevent the massacre of her friends. If she hadn't gone to the restroom then … nothing would have changed but the number of victims. And she would never have met Danny. The murderer might not have been brought to justice without her testimony. Danny wouldn't have come to Montana. A tired moan escapes from between her hands where her head has sunk.

"You okay?" She hears Hawkes' voice.

Her head pops up again. "Yeah." She brushes a stray lock of hair from her face. "Yeah, just thinking …"

"How about some coffee?" he asks.

"Sounds great!" She rubs her hands over her face and sends him a smile.

"And then I'll take over. Those monitors" he points to one, "may not be as bad for your eyes as the old ones, but they are not good for them either."

-o-

Stella maneuvers Flack away from the little gathering of uniforms and pedestrians who seem to have a heated discussion about the freedom of the press and the right of people to be informed. _And what about the human right of dignity? _she wonders. Information or just sensation? Flack tells her what he knows, which in this case extends little further than to who called it in.

"Where's Danny?" Stella asks as Angell joins them.

"Should be here soon. No idea where I caught him, but I'm pretty sure he was there on two wheels … so traffic shouldn't be a problem." Flack smirks.

Stella nods and moves away to have a closer look at the victim. Her flashlight wanders over the woman's face. Shadows flicker over the lifeless features. The light is absorbed by the woman's clothing, darkness emanating from her. Uneasiness is in the air._ By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes, _Stella thinks. Only it is more the pricking of the soles of her feet. Like they want to tell her to get away.

Not a very scientific approach, that's true, but often enough it had been her instincts that told her when something was wrong and where to look for more evidence. Stella takes a few steps away from the body and looks around. She doesn't think the woman died in this place.

A shriek of light tears through the sky, boiling air crashes behind it. Crackling sparks fly from its point of impact, a flaming hand exercising a deadly grip. Feathered flames hiss away along conductive material.

Then everything is dark and silent. Nobody sees the motes of dust floating down from the fire escape.

-o-

Mac has seen the man approaching his door. He contains a frown, Sinclair in the lab, and at this late hour, that can't be good. But he waves the visitor in anyway, before he has time to knock edgily.

Sinclair steps in and addresses Mac immediately. But his agitation sounds cold. Mac knows it's all just politics. Politics and press, great combination. For a moment he feels like all evils in the world start with a 'p'. He quickly shoves aside the thought of Peyton. Painful, yes, but evil … that would be spiteful of him.

"No information has left or will leave this lab. And it is not my job to roam every single street of this city and make sure that not a single person out there takes or fakes a picture of some crime scene and puts it up on the net." Mac makes clear.

A cold steel reflection pales Sinclair's face before he has time to raise his arms for protection. Mac swirls around to catch a glimpse of its source. Where did that flash come from? He scans the sky, hazy, layered with mist, yes. But clouds?

He has not missed their gathering, there are none. And it feels like a manifestation of mythology, like Zeus throwing lightning down from the Olympus at people who have angered him.

Science tells Mac immediately that there has to be a cloud somewhere. He has heard of flashes covering a distance of five miles or more, it must be out of sight for him. He has not seen the lightning strike either but from its duration and course he knows that it did. He sighs without making a sound. Science or mythology, there may have been people at the receiving end of this. And they may not have deserved it.

* * *

I guess the cliff has just got bigger …

Thank you very much for taking the time to read. As always I'd love to know what you think of it so please don't hesitate to leave a review. All thoughts and comments are appreciated any time, and replied to where possible.


	4. Waking the dead

**Thank you so much for all the awesome reviews. I loved getting them; it's so good to know what you think of this story. Also thanks to **_**autumngold**_** and **_**fatkat**_** for your reviews, I'm sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. And thanks for the favorites and alerts; I hope you all continue to enjoy this story.**

Black Moon Rising – Waking the dead

Mac looks back at Sinclair who in turn looks at him, rather annoyed.

Mac raises an eyebrow, "Why do I have the feeling that you'd like to make me responsible for that too." he points out of the window.

Sinclair snorts softly, "Taylor, you should know me better. Do you really think I take you to be capable of influencing the weather? It's my job to make sure that you do your job right, but it's nothing personal."

"Well then, may I suggest that you leave me to actually doing my job?" Mac frowns. "And do what you're so good at in your job and take care of the politics."

"Oh, believe me, I am." Sinclair smiles with a hint of satisfaction, "But, whether you like it or not, you're a part of the politics." He turns to leave.

Mac sighs after the other man has passed through the door. He's sure that Sinclair recalls full well how much he dislikes politics. As if this case weren't already bad enough on its own. His head starts throbbing again. He hopes that Stella will come back from the crime scene soon. Her presence, her touch, works so much better than any painkiller.

-o-

The first thing she sees are neon snakes. Glowing unearthly they seem to be hissing right through her head. Angell feels something pressing against her back. Or maybe she's pressing against something. Is it a wall or the ground? A slight directionality in the gritting feeling, she assumes that she must have stumbled back against the wall and the friction is now keeping her upright.

"What the hell was that?" she mumbles.

It takes a while before there is a reply, and it comes from further down.

"Guess God just took a picture of us." Flack remembers how as a boy he had told a little cousin that story to take away her fear.

"Well, I hope he's happy with that snapshot. I must have been gaping like mad."

"I'm sure you still looked great." Flack says.

"Thanks." She holds out a hand to help him up.

He stretches himself and then bends to brush the dust off his clothes. He looks around. "Stella?"

There's a groan, a mixture of hurt and annoyance. A lot of annoyance. It sounds very much like Stella, and it was possibly her pride that suffered the most.

Stella picks herself up from a pile of rubbish. "I am absolutely certain that I did not draw the short straw for dumpster duty!" she puffs.

Flack smiles, thinking that whoever the criminal in this case is might be facing a bit of revenge from Stella. And he's relieved to see that his friends are okay. As for the rest of the people around …, he turns to face the group of uniforms and want-to-be reporters, and finds himself rather amused. They all stare into the alley thunderstruck, quite literally, their discussion apparently forgotten. He sees Danny pulling up behind them.

"Hey, you just missed quite a show." Flack greets his friend.

"Don't worry; I was close enough to see a considerable part of it. So, where is the body?" Danny searches the area behind Flack with his eyes.

Flack whirls around. A moment later he's face to face with Danny again. "You just had to make me believe now that we're looking for a Dr. Frankenstein." he scowls.

Danny grins, "How could I possibly resist that opportunity?"

Stella shakes her head, smirking. "Let's get to it, before our victim does walk away."

She lets her eyes travel over the ribbon of sky caught between the buildings, no clouds visible. The fire escape that probably functioned as a lightning rod now shining innocently calm in the moonlight. But she still sees the sparks every time she blinks, and she still feels like they are running through her.

Stella shakes her head again, hoping to release what feels like excess energy. She joins Danny who has got down alongside the victim, and they process the scene. He looks at the body; she works on the surroundings, remembering what the scene had looked like before that disturbance from above.

-o-

Kendall carefully eases a piece of paper apart they had found in the victim's pocket. It appears to have been folded and refolded numerous times. Frayed holes begin to appear where horizontal and vertical folds have met. The paper is greased by use and stuck together not only by moisture. But finally it lies spread open before her. She detects some writing on it but not surprisingly that has suffered from the moisture too. She wishes more people would write with waterproof ink. Only a few of the letters have not dissolved into ghosts and shadows. But in the lab they have their means of bringing them back to life. She prepares the piece of paper for further examination.

"Say, Adam … can you cook?" she asks casually.

"Uh, what?" He looks up, surprised.

"I think you heard me the first time." she smiles, "Can you cook?"

"Eh, y-yeah … why?"

"I heard a lot more garlic has been bought these last few days. Would be a nice way to make sure that we are safe to cook something with it." Brushing an escaped strand of her hair behind her ear Kendall winks at him.

Adam flushes crimson, his eyes zipping back and forth between her face and the table he's working on._ Make sure that she's safe. _"There's … uhm, I … I actually make an aioli that should keep just about anybody away from you for a few days."

"Anybody? Even the person who shares it with me?" With a twinkle in her eyes Kendall watches the color of Adam's face deepen several shades.

-o-

Stella comes past Mac's office and enters after a soft knock.

"Should have known that you are still around." she addresses him by way of greeting.

Returning her kind smile he has stepped around his desk in a moment. "Are you okay?" he inquires.

"So you heard of our little adventure." _Should have known that too._

He nods. "I even got to see part of it, just didn't know that you were at the other end." He had checked as soon as he found out of course, to make sure that every member of his team is okay, but that is not the same as hearing it from her. "You should go home and get some rest."

She shrugs, brushing some curls away from her temple. "Shift isn't over yet. And besides, I'm feeling rather charged at the moment, I don't think I could relax. But you look rather wired too, what happened to you?" She thinks for a moment. "Sinclair?"

Mac nods again. He glances at the clock on his table. "We really should get out of here for a while. How about a late night snack?"

"Sounds great!" Stella feels that she might be beginning to relax after all.

They make their way to the elevator and Mac asks how Danny has been doing at the scene.

"Good, I guess." Stella replies, "But you know, for someone who reacts so emotionally it's amazingly difficult to know how he feels. And he won't talk about it. What about Lindsay?"

"I have a feeling he's pushing her even further away. And I'm not sure she can handle that. She seems fairly distracted." Mac voices his concern.

"They'll be okay." Stella comforts him. "I think they just need to talk."

-o-

A day passes without bringing significant change. Another night settles on New York City. Darkness that had crept into remote corners during the day comes out again. Rising, stretching, it reaches further and further, wrapping itself around signposts and trashcans. Flowing along the curb, smoothing over edges, hiding cracks in the pavement.

Even the steps to the doors of the precinct are playing tricks on people's eyes. Flack takes them carefully, one hand hovering behind Angell's back. He pushes the heavy door open and they walk inside, a brighter light greeting them. As soon as Flack has sat down at his desk his phone rings. He answers it. A woman is on the other end of the line, an accent he can't quite place, but she sounds aged.

"You think there may have been a murder in your neighborhood, Ms Wagner?" Angell hears him say. After a short pause "Three people walked into a blind alley but only two of them came out again. Are you sure the third one didn't use some back door or came out later?" Another short pause. "You're still looking at the alley. Okay," he's interrupted by the voice, "no, we don't expect you to go out and check if there's a body. You have done all you could. Thank you for calling it in. We'll take care of it."

He puts the receiver down and looks at Angell, sighing. "I hope she's having problems with her eyes, but we may just have gotten a fifth victim."

Angell eyes Flack's notes and thinks that she can see the drawing of a stake. She looks into his eyes, still a pleasantly cool blue, but she knows that can change soon.

-o-

Stella walks down the corridor, thinking about what Kendall has found. A handwritten copy of the serenity prayer. _God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace._

She wonders why the victim had this on him, and why it was handwritten. So far they know of no writing of his to compare it with, and no other evidence to tell if it was maybe given to him, much less by whom, or when.

She's on her way to the morgue to hear if Sid has been able to find out more, indications of the victims' identities or cause of death. Several steps away from the swinging doors a shout and a series of clanking noises make her speed up.

* * *

Everybody gets a cliff …

Thank you very much for taking the time to read. As always I'd love to know what you think of it so please don't hesitate to leave a review. All thoughts and comments are appreciated any time, and replied to where possible.


	5. Serpents' trails

**Thank you so much for the awesome reviews, and the favoriting and alerting! Many thanks also to _autumngold_, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. You guys are wonderful; I couldn't do this without you and I hope that you will continue to enjoy this, and to let me know what you think of it.  
**

Black Moon Rising – Serpents' trails

Stella rushes trough the swinging doors, quickly surveying the morgue. A figure sitting upright on one of the dissecting tables with an evil grin. Sid a couple of meters away, standing, as she notices with relief. His back to her she can't really tell how he's feeling right now, but she guesses that he's not very happy. With a few steps she's at his side and they face the wicked character together.

Stella is sure that she has seen the face before, but it's not one of the victims, in fact not any victim at all. She growls as she recognizes one of the lab techs. He has just lost his chances of ever getting promoted. And he still has the cheek to laugh at them. The chances of keeping his job are rapidly sinking too.

"You … you should have seen … his face." he says between giggles, pointing at Sid.

Stella sees Sid's face now and it's nothing to laugh about. But apparently the brute of a lab tech doesn't notice. Not even when the ME speaks.

"Have some respect for the dead!" Sid says, and Stella hears hurt in his voice, not for himself but for the treatment of the victims whose dignity he works so conscientiously to restore.

But the lab tech just shrugs.

"For your information, Halloween is over!" Stella hisses.

"So?" the guy grins.

Stella narrows her eyes at him, "Wait, you did that trick late because you were afraid that the dead would really rise and take revenge on you."

He snorts, possibly covering a hint of uneasiness "As if! They are dead, man. How can they feel insulted?"

Stella steps a little closer and bends forward. "Oh, I would be, believe me! And I would come back to haunt you."

Sid thinks he sees a slight pallor creep into the guy's face that makes his mask a little more believable.

"Now pick up the tools you knocked over and get out of here!" Stella continues, enforcing her words with a sharp look.

Finally the lab tech has the decency to cringe. He does as he's told and trots out of the morgue, Sid gazing after him with a frown.

"I heard that Adam is planning to cook for us." Stella says to cheer him up, adding with a wink, "Apparently he has a cookbook with recipes for tons of garlic."

"With the luck we're having lately we'll get the vampire – or lab tech – with severe nasal congestion." Sid says, but he smiles all the same, the prospect of a dinner together is pleasant. "But speaking of garlic, our victim number three ate that a couple of hours before he died. I'm pretty sure that he wasn't a vampire, also because the blood I found in his stomach was his own. Ruptured ulcers. And he took aspirins against the stomach pain, lots of them. Very bad idea, but I'm guessing he wasn't aware of that."

"That is bad. Was this also the cause of death?" Stella asks.

"Yes. He may have dragged himself around for some time, but eventually the blood loss was just too much." Sid concludes.

-o-

They stand in the alley Ms Wagner has called them to. It really is a dead end. Noises from the busier street it connects to fret back and forth between the surrounding buildings, distorting themselves. Scratching against metal doors as a breeze blows them along.

"Please tell me that this is a joke." Flack says.

"I guess it's actually supposed to be a joke, it's just not funny." Angell says and Flack is glad that she seems to share his sense of humor.

They both look down at the stake, polished wood shimmering in their flashlights. A grey glimmer keeping it slightly upright. Ashes.

Angell looks up again and rubs her hand up and down Flack's arm when she sees the expression on his face. "Hey, on the upside we don't have another victim."

Flack's frown becomes less pronounced. "I still don't like the direction this is taking. On the one hand we have people panicking because of a possible serial killer; on the other hand we have people playing such tricks. And with the press-hounds having sniffed blood you can be sure things are going to blow up either way soon."

Angell nods, she wishes it weren't so. And it's not just the press they are working against. She vividly recalls the beehive that had surrounded them after the third victim. Of course they had all wanted headline news, but they don't sting unless they feel cornered. She thinks it's the internet they have to worry about, this uncontrolled playground where information can have the strangest bloom, and simple things mushroom out of control. All they can do is try and be faster, but by the looks of it they hadn't been. She's glad when Lindsay arrives at the scene. No murder, but the CSIs still have to look into this because of the possible connection. She wonders about Danny following so quietly. What's going on between those two?

"I'd like to know what's with those doors, and some other things. We'll go talk to our witness, find out more about what she really saw. But I'm guessing she was fooled. You two will be okay here?" Flack addresses the two CSIs.

"Sure, why wouldn't we be?" Danny gives his friend a strange look, lets it follow the tall detective out of the alley. He turns to find Lindsay looking at him quietly. "What?"

"I think we should talk." she says.

"'Bout what? There's nothing to talk about." is his reply.

She sighs and in silence they get down to process the scene.

After a while she begins again. "You think who am I to say that? Me who wouldn't talk about my past, even after such a long time." There's no reply. She tries again. "If you don't want to talk about … it," she avoids Ruben's name, "okay, but we have to talk, about something. Or Mac will think he has to put us on different cases. Danny, you are not like that … and I'm here, don't turn away."

He looks at her, but the silence between them remains.

-o-

Mac leafs through the files before him, now four for this case, assuming that it is one case. And a yet empty file ready for the one he has put Danny and Lindsay on, together on purpose. This last one not a murder, but seeing how this could be spinning out of control his relief is not complete. Not even when he sees Stella coming through the door.

"What's the news?" he asks, returning her smile.

"I think we may have to get rid of one of our lab techs." she says.

"Oh? You think there's a chance I can turn that into something positive for Sinclair?" Mac wonders.

Stella grins, "Just tell him we'll be saving money; that ought to make him happy any time."

"Did Sid have anything on COD of our third victim?" Mac gets back to the more important business at hand.

Stella tells him what Sid has found, adding her thoughts that for the identity of the victim they are now looking for someone under a lot of stress and most likely living alone, with nobody around who could come to the rescue. Mac nods slowly. Another murder less. In return he shares with her what Flack has told him about the fifth 'victim'.

He sees her features lighten at that, but he also sees exhaustion in her eyes. With the possibility of this case turning out to be less serious he decides to send her home, the past three days doing double shifts have been enough.

"I'll give you a lift." he adds.

But she declines this offer as he had expected. "Thanks, but I'll take the subway. I think I have proven that I can take care of myself there." she smirks.

"I know that." he says with a smile, she has told him of her little experience.

And she knows that it is the offer of a friend, not an assumption of any weakness on her part. "Good night." A small kiss lands on his cheek, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He looks after her with a lingering smile.

-o-

Stella gets on the subway train. For a moment she's surprised to see that it's quite full. There had been no body, no murder tonight. But still she thinks that people forget so quickly, even their fear. The party must go on.

It's the time when most people come back from a night out or move further into it, and are not on their way home from work like she is. And some seem to have brought the party along. She sighs. Getting a lift would certainly have been more comfortable and quiet. She suddenly feels more tired than she'd realized.

She's glad to find a seat further away from the main commotion. But still, the number of sources turns the outpour of words around her into a meaningless ululation. The rattle of the tracks hammers a rhythm into her head, the wind a high-pitched sizzle in her ears as the train winds through the tunnels with a serpent's scream.

She's looking forward to being able to close her apartment door and leave this world outside for a while. Suddenly it all seems too noisy and shrill.

-o-

Hawkes bends over the keyboard again. They have found nothing on the second victim in missing persons. No apparent cause of death from Sid either. Hawkes looks at the tox report a third time, she wasn't poisoned, he has made sure to check for even the most unusual. But there is as little proof of poisoning to be found in her blood as there are hints on her identity in any system. No fingerprints documented anywhere, no criminal record, no professional.

No genetic fingerprint either, but he looks at the DNA again all the same. He can't put his finger on it, but something in the sequence seems off. His thoughts slip to Danny and Lindsay, something off between them too. He sighs, wondering if there's anything he could do to help. But Danny won't talk to him; he hasn't even talked to Flack. And Lindsay might be bubbly when she's nervous but otherwise she's rather quiet anyway. With another sigh he turns his attention back to the DNA.

-o-

A golden glow spins silver threads through the room, silken in appearance. A fatal beauty, its true face hidden. Stella turns in her bed, the figments writhe, shrinking back and curling closer again. She breathes in, her throat protests, a gritting sensation, the air feels hot. She doesn't wake.

Shadows flicker around her, weaving a gossamer fabric that her fingers cut through as she turns again. Grotesque faces jerk across the walls and ceiling, baring teeth at her dripping with ruby flickers. They slither closer, coiling on her chest.

Heat licking her skin. Sending shivers through her. She shudders in resonance with the silhouettes. Tossing and turning, as they pull her along in a macabre dance.

She's unaware that her eyes are open, a gleaming black. Seeing, but not seeing her surroundings. She's unaware of a different darkness furling around her. Swallowing her. She's unaware.

* * *

And another cliff …

Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope this chapter was okay. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback. All thoughts and comments are appreciated, and replied to if logged.


	6. Burning water

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, also to **_**autumngold**_**, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. Please keep them coming, they keep me going! Also thanks to anyone who has put this on favorites or alert, I hope you will continue to enjoy it. And thanks to **_**afrozenheart412 **_**for discussion and **_**lily moonlight **_**for poking.**

Black Moon Rising – Burning water

Flack double-checks the number on his notepad before he knocks on the door that has no other means of distinguishing it from the others in the house but a set of brass digits. It is opened much quicker than he had expected.

"Good evening, Detectives." the elderly woman says.

"Good evening Ms Wagner. Sorry to be disturbing you at this late hour …"

"Perverts work overtime." Ms Wagner says simply.

Flack struggles a little to keep his jaw from dropping. He darts a glance at Angell and sees that her eyes have also widened somewhat.

"So you have to work overtime too to keep them in check." Ms Wagner continues. "No problem for me, I don't need much more sleep anyway. Welcome in." With that the woman opens the door fully.

Letting Angell go first Flack steps inside and they follow the elderly female through a dusky corridor.

"I'm Detective Flack, we spoke on the phone. And this is my colleague Detective Angell." Flack eventually finds time to introduce themselves before sitting down on the offered couch.

"And you want to know more about what I saw." Ms Wagner lingers by the window for a moment, shrunken but not bowed by the years she has lived through.

Flack can only nod.

"Yes." Angell helps him out, "And also we were wondering about the doors in the alley. What makes you think nobody left through them?"

"They are always kept locked at night. I've been living here for over sixty years now, I know all the people in this neighborhood," Ms Wagner elaborates, "and they all know me … even if they don't know their next-door neighbor."

"And you are sure that none of those three men who entered the alley was one of your neighbors?" Flack asks.

"Oh yes," Ms Wagner insists, "my eyes are still working very well. It's my hearing that is abandoning me though my ears seem to want to make up for it by growing bigger and bigger."

She gives Flack a sideways glance, and he hastens to draw his eyes away from her ears and look at Angell. With a smirk the female detective comes to the rescue again.

"Do you think you could give us a description of the people you saw? And also it would be helpful if you could tell us about anything that struck you as unusual."

"I'm guessing you mean unusual as in today?" the old woman winks at Angell, "Because I have seen a lot of unusual things happen in my life."

-o-

Darkness flooding through her, she's sinking, waves of silver crests webbing around her. Swirling and swirling like a black rose unfolds. Palpable gloom she's groping into but her hands find nothing to hold on to. _Then swim_, her mind orders, but she doesn't know which way. Is this argentine shimmer a lifeline or is it tangling her?

A drop of light sinks through the darkness, or is it a bubble rising? It wobbles in the surrounding liquid soot, in waves originating from her hands as she propels herself into motion. Trying to breathe against the pressure on her lungs. Trying to get away from wherever she is. More and more light boils past her, meets to form a bright and hovering mesh, like the sun from under water. She forces herself towards it, struggling for oxygen, darkness on her heels. She slips into the light.

-o-

Danny inches his way through the alley, flicking the bright circle of his flashlight up and down, feeling a bit like he's making the darkness scurry away. He wishes he could do the same with the shadows that keep ghosting through his mind.

Lindsay is working on the pile of ashes and its immediate surroundings quietly. He's glad of it, not that she's quiet, because although he doesn't want to talk her voice would be a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He's glad that she's working on the ashes because the sight of them has him churning, a swirl of associations that pulls him asunder. He's trying to concentrate on his job but every other moment his eyes anchor on her.

Lindsay feels the recurring pull of a look brushing over her. Silently she grits her teeth against the urge to return it. Instead she focuses on the task before her. The stake looks like it used to be the leg of a chair; she makes a mental note to check that possibility later. She studies the pile of scintillating grey, a large amount around where the stake had been, smaller quantities spreading outwards like arms, legs, and a head.

-o-

Stella comes up gasping, her hands still trying to find a hold. She feels like she's floating in a haze, panting and sweating. Shivering in the swirl that still dances around her. Her mind grasps for a notion of what is going on, fingering through a cloud of confusion. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her mind but immediately regrets it, a flare of pain stabbing into her neck.

Her breath is dry and rasping. Deliberately slower now, Stella turns her head to bring a faint red glow into her field of vision. She blinks a couple of times as it swims in and out of focus. Finally the digits become clear enough to read. With a sigh she lets herself sink back into the pillow. So early yet, and she doubts that sleep will come again that night. The dream is still a pressure on her mind and on her chest.

-o-

A thick fog floating past his window that, if he didn't know, would make him wonder whether the sun is already up, Mac sits in his office and studies the preliminary report Lindsay has given him. A copy of Ms Wagner's statement lies on his desk, next to the requisite cup of coffee. Mac puts the report back into the file and looks at the statement again.

The old lady was adamant that she saw three people walking into the alley, all Caucasian. One of them, his fair hair reflecting the streetlight, seemed to be very uncomfortable, walking unnaturally tense. He was also the one who didn't come back out. Mac marvels at Ms Wagner's power of observation; given that she could be related to Stella, he thinks.

A soft knock raises him from his thoughts. Stella enters, but his greeting smile is a faint one.

"I thought you'd get some rest …" he utters.

She manages a dry smile, "Go on, say it, I know I look like hell … and I was hoping it was just my mirror."

"What happened?" he asks, patting on his desk as an invitation to sit down on it.

She does so and lets her fingers stroll through his items before she replies, "Nothing, really. Just a bad dream, and afterwards I couldn't get back to sleep. I guess it will take a while, if ever, before I forget about that fire."

Mac nods slowly, the experience of her apartment building on fire is memorized in _his_ bones too. He hopes that she will accept doing lab work today, he doesn't really want to see her in the turbulence outside.

Before he can make a suggestion she says, "I'll have a closer look at that." taking the files up from his desk.

"Have some tea with it." he smiles, though he has a nagging feeling that it might be a bigger cause for worry when she concedes so easily.

-o-

Mac raises an eyebrow as he sees Adam wander down the corridor, head bent down and looking at something in his hands. Kendall a couple of steps behind apparently has no intention to warn him that he's about to bump into his boss, literally. It's Mac's voice that alerts and stops him. Adams eyes flip upwards, down again at the bunch of garlic he's holding, and back up at Mac's face.

"It's … not what you're thinking." Adam bursts out, his head assuming the color of a tomato, which Mac can't help but think quite fitting.

"What do you think I'm thinking?" Mac asks, but then reassures the flustered lab tech, "Don't worry, I don't think you want to keep vampires at bay, I heard that you are going to cook for us. And I'm looking forward to a break from the usual takeaway."

The lab tech smiles, feeling a mixture of relief and pressure to succeed, and walks on. Kendall about to follow him with a grin is stopped by Mac. She hastens to put on an innocent face.

"I heard that Daniel has been misbehaving. Why don't you keep an eye on him?" Mac tells her.

Kendall nods eagerly. She has heard of the trick Daniel had played on Sid and has already thought of sorting him out, but to be kind of asked to do so by the head of the lab is a bonus.

-o-

Sid browses through the notes he has made. First victim, male, COD: unknown. Second victim, female, COD: unknown. In his mind he adds _yet _to both. Tox has revealed nothing of a deadly amount. But there were traces of different drugs that make him wonder if maybe these two people had been ill too.

Their fourth victim, the woman in the alley as he dubs her for lack of a name, had been ill. Signs of a serious infection all over her body, traces of prescription drugs in her system too. But no way of telling whether she had died of that infection. Another penciled _yet _appears in his mind. He's determined to find out, to do everything he can to provide his piece to the puzzle.

Maybe it was the infection that killed her, maybe it was an unexpected reaction to the drugs. But while he would be glad if these cases turned out not to be murders he still doesn't like where this might be going. Sid frowns at the specter of Daniel creeping into his mind. The lab tech hadn't scared him in the least, but the thought of people being robbed of their humanity, identity and dignity, whether before or after death, weighs heavily on the ME.

-o-

Stella brushes a hand over her forehead and through her curls. It feels hot in the room but at the same time she feels cold from the lack of restorative sleep. A noise makes her look up and it's gone again. She mutters a couple of choice curses under her breath, irritated with herself for being so jumpy. There can't be a fire, but something keeps flickering just out of sight. There can't be a fire but she feels flushes of heat.

She tries to focus on the stack of papers before her, block out all other sensations. But the letters refuse to stay in place, jumble into words of different meanings, _look out_. She feels like someone is looking at her, watching. She turns around, nobody there. Turns back to the table and again someone, no, _something_ is digging its eyes into her neck. A rush of air rustles in her ears, like an unearthly panting. She swirls around again and it seems to take the room a couple of moments to follow. She adds a few more swearwords to today's list but whatever is there, whatever is causing her to feel like this, seems unimpressed.

She feels something in the room. Cinder eyes glowing every time she blinks. Gone when she opens her eyes, phasing away. So close, a hot breath on her eyelids, but invisible. A dark touch, raising the hairs on her neck, running like a shiver down her spine. _Run_, adrenaline screams through her body. She tries to move, backwards, forwards, anywhere.

She thinks that this can't be real, but reality collapses around her.

Everything falls, darkness.

* * *

It's a fairly long cliff too …

Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope this chapter was okay. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback. All thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated any time, and replied to if logged.


	7. Erinyes

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, and the favoriting and alerting. ****Also to **_**autumngold**_**, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. And thanks to **_**afrozenheart412 **_**for discussion. You guys are wonderful; I couldn't do this without you! I hope you'll all continue to enjoy it.**

Black Moon Rising – Erinyes

Flack yawns heartily and earns a grin from Angell. "What a way to tell me that you need more sleep than good old Ms Wagner, Detective." she chuckles.

"Yeah, some tough old lady she is! When did we get out from there again, at three?" Flack rubs his eyes at the memory. "The big sleep will come soon enough." he muses, "Her words, not mine, mind!"

"Don't worry. I remember." Angell reassures him. "And I also remember that she had some help, so …" She winks at him and gets up to fetch them coffee.

Flack browses through the files they have gathered. The information Ms Wagner has been able to give them is very promising. But he has a feeling that might raise their hopes too high. The first time that they have a witness, but now they don't have a body. Plus, it's the first time that it wasn't a dump job. And he just can't help this feeling that maybe the cases aren't connected.

He shrugs off the uncertainty as Angell returns with two steaming cups. No matter how many cases this might split up into, he's sure that in the end they will find who's responsible. After all they are New York's finest. In more than one respect, he thinks as he looks at Angell.

-o-

Mac looks up. Hadn't there just been a noise? He thinks he sees Stella standing in his door, but in a flash she's gone again. She had looked … like a ghost. It must have been a reflection. There's a lot of glass in the lab, and a lot of noises. He shakes his head. Kind of ironic given the nature of their case that his mind is playing such tricks on him now.

Another sound on glass. Mac raises his head again. Sinclair. With a sigh Mac waves the man in.

"What is it this time?" Mac opens the conversation.

"You see, Taylor," Sinclair starts unnecessarily circumspectly, "I really appreciate that nothing of yesterday's event has reached the press yet, and that your people are doing double shifts to close this case … but financially I'd prefer if you'd let the lower levels do the double shifts, and not the costly higher staff."

"They are in the superior positions because they are better and faster." Mac snarls. "And besides, most of what you refer to as the 'lower' staff has been doing double shifts too. Same as you, I presume?"

He doesn't care what other meaning the chief could draw from these sentences. _Give him a reason to save a bit of money on the heating._

-o-

He stares into his coffee cup. Maybe he drinks too much of it, empty again. Not entirely empty, he notes with mordant amusement. Rings and layers that have gathered tell him the history of his last few days. Maybe he should wash the cup more often, but he can't be bothered. Maybe he could buy another cup, but he can't be bothered to do that either.

He digs through the clutter that furnishes his room, muttering under his breath because it takes him so long to find what he needs more than once a day. How can it be that no five minutes after use it always disappears again? His cry of triumph at spotting the item he has been looking for fades as he realizes that the glass is almost empty. Maybe it is time to buy another cup, if he has to buy some more coffee as well.

"Hey Mike, I'm bored!" he announces, coming out into the hallway and spotting one of his flat-mates.

"For the one hundredth time, I'd really prefer if you'd call me Michael. And, again? Fun doesn't last long with you, does it?"

"Yeah," he agrees, "yesterday was fun; can we do that again tonight?"

"No!" the other man makes clear. "And I've said that before too. Do you want me to spell it for you?"

"Oh come on Mike, why not?"

"Because! And besides, I have other things to do. Go find something to do yourself if you're bored. Like, hey, how about you clean up that room of yours? That should keep you busy until Christmas."

Michael walks away ignoring the stabbing glare the older man shoots him. He knows that is nothing to worry about. But he wonders if it was a good idea to include Peter in his little game. They always end up wanting more.

-o-

Danny drums his fingers against the metal innards of the elevator. So unusually empty for this time of the day. As empty as he feels, as empty as his mind is not. His thoughts keep rebounding.

When the doors finally open he shoots out, and almost bumps into Hawkes. "Hey, keep out of my head!" he scolds.

"What?" Hawkes is taken aback and gives his colleague a curious glance.

"I said, keep out of my head." Danny repeats exasperated.

"I heard you. But I have no idea what you mean. I think you should talk …"

Danny doesn't let him finish. "See, that's exactly what I mean! Don't tell me what to do! Stop being my conscience."

"Danny!" Hawkes feels a touch of irritation, "I can see that you need to talk, everybody can see that. I don't care who you talk to or what about, but if this gets in the way of your work, and your life, you have to talk to someone and get it off your mind. And you know that Mac can make you."

Danny's annoyance falters. "What do I tell her?"

"The truth."

"Do you realize what that means?"

Hawkes gets an uneasy feeling at this, but still, "Whatever happened, I think you have to tell her. Because it is your only chance, she may forgive you. If she has to find out on her own, she may not."

-o-

Mac leaves his office, mulling things. All that has happened and is happening. Trying to keep the press out of this to avoid a panic – and pranks like what he thinks the incident yesterday was. Very successful indeed. But he thinks that it would have been better anyway to inform the press of the facts to avoid a panic, and not leave the people to suggestions. They might also need the help of the press to identify the victims. All that he has read in the files floats through his mind, waiting to fall into place.

A door falls shut behind him. The wind seems to be howling through the building, using chimneys as organ pipes. Looking around he sees Stella reflected in one of the glass walls. Her hands joined, pulling at her fingers, agitated, worried. But so quiet. He swirls around.

She's gone.

He blinks. She can't have been there.

He rubs his temple. Why does he see her?

-o-

Kendall frowns into the microscope. She's already prepared a sample for further examination, but so far the ashes look disturbingly human. _Human, not vampire._ She can't imagine that there was actually a vampire staked in that alley. But whatever really happened, it is odd, will be hard to explain, and makes her feel uncomfortable. Human ashes. How did they get there? This is more than just a prank. She feels a bit like somebody is invading her field of expertise, and not in a good way. People should know how far to go. She looks over at Adam.

He's bent over the last stake they have found. The one that wasn't really inside a victim. He's let the computer scan pages and pages of furniture manufacturers and been able to confirm Lindsay's suspicion. A chair leg, a fairly cheap one. Probably found in tens of thousands of households. Now he's trying to lower the number by looking for traces that may have been left by the former owner.

But he's concerned that like the other stakes it might turn out to be just a piece of wood that was used because it happened to be lying around near by; a lath, the broken stick of a broom. So far they haven't been able to find a link other than what they are made of and what they were used for.

"Adam?" Kendall pulls him from his thoughts.

"Huh?" It occurs to him that she sounds unusually friendly. _Where's the catch?_

"I was wondering if we could haunt the lab together?"

_WE? _"W-what do … do you have in mind??"

"I thought that to take revenge on Daniel we could pretend that the lab is haunted, and you could help me with the technology."

"Eh, uh, yeah … sure, I … I could." She's going to play a trick, and he's not going to be at the receiving end, he hopes.

She chuckles at the colors and lines that scoot over his face.

-o-

A draft of air flows past him, another sound. Just a door that opened somewhere, he tells himself. People passing all the time. Footsteps. But they sound like her, again. And she stands before him, again. But he knows that she's not really there. She looks so much like a ghost, hovering before him quietly. It has to be a reflection. He lays out a plan of the lab in his mind, but he doesn't see what could cause such a reflection. Where she really is. And why she looks at him the way she does.

"Hey Mac, have you seen Stella?"

"No." Mac says somewhat hesitantly, turning to the person who has drawn his eyes away from her apparition.

Something about the look that the head of the lab gives him strikes Hawkes as odd too. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Mac nods, a little too quickly, "Yeah, just … a little distracted, I guess."

_A little distracted? You look more like you're not entirely with us._ Hawkes decides to keep an eye on his superior.

-o-

Sid swings through the doors of the morgue, and finds it not quite as empty as he had expected.

"Lindsay, what can I do for you?"

"I don't know." She stands at the same table Ruben had lain on and for a moment it seems as if the boy is still lying there. "I don't know if there is anything you can do. Or anything anyone can do."

Sid nods quietly. He knows it's no use to pressure her to talk.

"You know," she begins again, running her hands back and forth along the edge of the table, "sometimes I think you're the one who knows us all here the best. I mean, you get the secrets out of the dead … and you get them out of the living." She makes a pause that is filled by the swishing of her hands against the ever cold metal. "And … remember how you said that Danny has a crush on me? I think you were the first to notice. Maybe even before he noticed himself …"

Sid bridges her pause with a warm smile, "Maybe … but now, what, hmm?"

"Exactly. Now … I just don't know what to make of him. I like that he's emotional. But now I'm worried that he'll get into something stupid because of that … or that he's already right in the middle of it …" her voice trails off.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Sid has to admit, "But I think what really matters is that both of you are willing to get out of it again."

"Together?" she wonders.

"Preferably." he smiles.

-o-

Mac goes looking for Stella. It has been less than an hour since he last saw her. Saw her for real, but that is what is beginning to make him uncomfortable.

He comes to the room he knows Stella prefers for quiet research. The door stands ajar. After a soft knock on the wood he pushes it further open.

"Stella?"

The room is empty.

Mac leans forward and looks around.

It looks empty.

But it doesn't feel empty.

Mac takes another step inside. "Stella?"

Then he sees her. She lies furled under the table, frozen rigid, hands drawn to her chest. On his knees Mac finds himself staring into her eyes, falling into them.

"Stella!"

* * *

Eh, yeah, told you it would be a long cliff …

Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope this chapter was okay. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback; it really helps me along with this. All thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated any time, and always replied to if logged.


	8. Purgatory

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, and the favoriting and alerting. Also to **_**autumngold **_**and**_** Yeti**_**, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. And thanks to **_**afrozenheart412 **_**for discussion and pampering of my confidence, and **_**lily moonlight**_** for the 'slight nudge' ;).**

**Wow, over 100 reviews****, I'm so happy!! :) You guys are wonderful; I couldn't do this without you! I hope you'll all continue to enjoy this story.**

Black Moon Rising - Purgatory

"Oh, this is great!" Flack says sarcastically when he realizes what the sound he's just begun to hear means.

Angell looks out the window, chuckling, "Yeah, but didn't you come prepared? I mean, what do you expect in November?"

"Just plain fog. But fog and rain, that's mean. Can't see where you're going but you still gotta run. Besides, you look elegant when you run." He thinks it might not exactly be foggy enough for him. "I just look …"

"Cute," she finishes for him, "like a daddy longlegs. Come on, catch me if you can. I won't look … back." With that she hops out of the car he has just pulled up at their destination, and into the rain. Her umbrella unfolds immediately. She walks around the car and faces him with a broad grin. "Come on out, if we huddle up it's big enough for us both."

-o-

He feels frozen by the look in her eyes. Her eyes, open. Reflecting him, but not seeing him. Almost hesitantly he touches her. Heat rising from her skin burns a spasm of relief through him. He feels her pulse, like a bass drum. For a moment it's all that he needs. Seeing and feeling no injuries he carefully pulls her into his arms. A moan escapes from her lips, but she doesn't wake, she doesn't close her eyes.

Holding her he waits for the paramedics to arrive. The touch of her skin burns into him, ignites his thoughts. Hot, she's too hot. What is going on? What is happening? Was that dream she had about the fire really caused by her memories? Like a stream of lava things seem to be drifting away from him, out of control. First the strike of lightning, traveling a distance of five miles, passing higher places, as if it had been specifically aimed at his team. And now …? He holds her, holds on to her.

Quietly, unmoving. The sounds of the lab are only echoes. Resounding again and again in his ears are her footsteps as she walks away, passing through his door. Cool glass, reflecting like her burning eyes. Her breath like the swathes of fog drifting by outside.

-o-

"Yes!"

Adam almost stumbles back at the outburst tearing him from his thoughts. He looks at Kendall, asks a little hesitantly, "'Yes' as in you got an idea how to haunt the lab or 'yes' as in you got something?"

"Yes, _you_ got something." she comes around the desk, "Didn't you hear your computer."

Together they look at the screen. A match indeed. But the bubble shimmering with hope bursts quickly, as bubbles do. The fingerprint Adam got off the chair leg is only a match to one Danny had lifted off one of the doors in the alley.

"Well, at least we have a connection." Kendall pats Adam on the back.

"Yeah. If they find any relating trace inside that's a good step ahead. I think." He turns back to the chair leg, but is distracted again by a commotion outside. He lifts his head. "What's going on?"

Kendall is already at the door. Now she looks back at him, disturbed. Immediately he joins her. He swallows, seeing Stella motionless on a stretcher, Mac's eyes locked on to her. Stella conceding to be carried out of the lab, Mac looking like that, he swallows, something must be very wrong. Kendall's eyes glide over him. If she didn't know already she would see in this moment how much Stella means to him.

"I guess," she says slowly, unsure if she's choosing the right words, "I guess we'll postpone that dinner." _And the haunting._

"Yeah." He swallows. He's not going to have that dinner without Stella. "Yeah." He nods.

The elevator doors close and they turn back to their workstation. For the moment it's the best they can do.

-o-

Looking after them as Stella is lifted into the ambulance Danny suddenly finds himself with his back against the wall. Slowly he rolls around and comes face to face with Lindsay.

"Hey, what's going on here?" he points over his shoulder and through the main entrance.

Lindsay shrugs, following the ambulance with her eyes as it drives off. "I don't know. I just know that Mac found her unconscious, and she's still not responding. I heard that her pulse is very fast and that she feels hot, feverish …" She shrugs again, her hands shoved into her pockets for hold.

Danny looks at her, runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it to add a couple of extra spikes. What's happening here? He has seen her like this before. His hand travels down to the back of his neck, kneading some tight muscles. But he still doesn't know what to say, or how.

"Give me a little time?" he asks.

She understands what he's referring to and nods quietly. "We better get to work."

She guesses two minds and pairs of hands will be missing for a while.

-o-

Mac avoids the waiting room. One would think that people'd finally come up with a way to make it more comfortable. Pictures that look like the person who painted them had been half asleep. Photos taken with a soft-focus lens only give him the feeling that he's losing focus. He has to admit that it's not their fault. There's probably nothing that could comfort him now, nothing but knowing that Stella will be alright.

The corridor at least brings him distraction. He looks up and down, follows nurses and doctors with his eyes, patients and visitors. He sees a woman sitting down alongside a wall. He wonders why she's here. For some reason he can't help looking at her. She sits straight, hands on her lap, a dark red coat lying neatly folded over her right arm. There's not a crease or stain visible on her conservative looking clothing. Not one of her straight brown hairs dares spring up. She looks straight ahead. Her face tanned, the color looks natural but still like leather stretched taut over prominent cheek bones. Tense, her face looks like a mask. Mac wonders what she's waiting for.

"Mac." A friendly voice draws him from his thoughts.

Mac turns around. "Hawkes. What are you doing here?"

"Remember I said something seemed odd about our second victim's DNA? Well, I thought I'd run a few tests and comparisons, and it turns out she had Rett's syndrome. Now the traces of medication we found make some sense, and I thought she might have been a patient here, so came to see if anybody remembers her." Hawkes pauses and gives Mac a steady look. "Any word on Stella?"

Mac shakes his head. "Not yet." He falls silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Sid said the fourth victim had a serious infection. What if Stella …"

"I'll get his results, and Stella's. It's highly unlikely though that she got infected that way." Hawkes attempts to comfort Mac.

"Keep me posted. And … can you take over the case? With all that's going on … it just doesn't feel right to leave her here alone."

"Of course."

-o-

The rain has settled in, providing the perfect background for a waiting game. Monotonous dripping accompanies the staring at walls and screens and printouts. Lulling some into a semi-trance.

With a frustrated sigh Flack shakes water off his shoes. He has remembered to bring an umbrella, but that's no help when lost in thoughts he's stepped into a puddle. Two days, and there has been no change in Stella's condition. The doctors haven't even been able yet to find out what is wrong with her. A virus, that's what they always say when really they have no idea.

He's glad he's got something to do, and somewhere to go, and Angell coming along. He doesn't really want to know how Mac is feeling. He holds the door open for Angell, is only half aware of her smile. They greet the owner of the place.

"Mr. Anderson, you wouldn't happen to be running low on chairs lately?" Angell asks.

The slightly overweight man chuckles. "Look around. You think I count them every day?"

"Well, guess you should." Flack says, "We found traces that prove that one of your chairs was used in a crime."

Now the man snorts. "I'd hardly call staking a vampire a crime!"

Flack glares at him, "Not funny!"

"Alright, alright," the man holds his hands up defensively, "don't take it personally."

Angell raises an eyebrow at him. "Just tell us where you were Friday night."

"Seriously? I own this place, what do you guys think where I'd be on a Friday night when there's the most business?"

"Since you care so much about your business I'm sure you got surveillance cameras that can prove that …" Flack points out.

"… and also tell us who might have walked off with one of your chairs." Angell continues.

"Whatever." the man waves a hand in the air, "Have fun watching."

-o-

Kendall finds Hawkes in a corridor. "Hey, I found out those ashes that were left in the alley are really human. DNA was mostly destroyed beyond identification, but I did find that there must have been multiple donors. So I thought maybe a cemetery was vandalized, or a crematory broken into."

"Good. Check if there have been any such incidents reported. And add hospitals to the list. Amputated limbs are a biohazard and have to be disposed of …"

"Aren't they usually sold as hotdogs?" Kendall asks, her eyes flickering sideways.

He stares at her. Then he sees an apology in her eyes. He glances in the same direction she just had and sees Daniel, with a hotdog in his hand. The lab tech appears to be turning a slight tinge of green. Hawkes has to admit that he feels a hint of satisfaction. He faces Kendall again.

"There are various possibilities to dispose of them." he says vaguely.

-o-

Mac stretches his legs, ambling up and down the corridor. Passing the time that the doctors and nurses spend on Stella. Retreading his steps from the day before, and the day before that. Thirty-one steps to the left from the door of Stella's room, twenty-three to the right. Seeing the same woman sitting in the same chair, with the same expression. He begins to wonder if her face really is a mask. Maybe that is why she's here. He has lost count of how many times he has passed her. She doesn't seem to see him.

"Di gemme la sua fronte era lucente," she says suddenly.

He turns and looks at her. "Excuse me?"

"E la notte de' passi con che sale fatti avea due nel loco ov'eravamo e 'l terzo già chinava in giuso l'ale;" she continues, her eyes lifted towards him.

"I don't understand." he tells her.

She doesn't seem to hear him. "Nell'ora che comincia i tristi lai la rondinella presso alla mattina, forse a memoria de' suo' primi guai,"

He's mesmerized by her eyes. Dark brown, glowing cold. There's something in them. Something haunted, haunting. It doesn't look like the effect of drugs. More like she's possessed. Fear, a memory, something has taken a hold of her mind.

"E che la mente nostra, peregrina più dalla carne e men da' pensier presa, alle sue vision quasi è divina ..." she's standing now, her eyes ablaze, "terribil come folgor discendesse e me rapisse suso infino al foco. Ivi parea che ella e io ardesse; e sì lo 'ncendio imaginato cosse che convenne che 'l sonno si rompesse."

He doesn't know how to stop her, or if he should. He tries to understand what she's saying but he only catches single words. Words that tumble from her, but still obedient to a rhythm.

"Mi fuggì 'l sonno, e diventa' ismorto come fa l'uom che spaventato agghiaccia." She closes her eyes, breaking the spell.

Mac suppresses a shiver. Not looking left or right she walks down the corridor. He's not sure she's been aware of his presence at all.

"Who was that?"

Mac turns around to face the owner of the voice, Sid. He shrugs, "I have no idea."

"Weird." the ME says.

Mac sees the bag slung over Sid's shoulder. "What are you carrying around?"

"Coffee, and sandwiches. My wife made them. I know what hospital food is like. And you should know what Stella will say when she sees that you haven't been taking care of yourself. Bad enough that you don't sleep." His words are accompanied by a mild frown. "I can stick around for a while, if you want to take a walk outside …"

"Isn't it still raining?"

"It is, but some people say those are the best walks. Oh, I brought a towel too, just in case." Sid smiles.

-o-

Mac looks at the raindrops on the window, glowing like jewels in the streetlights. He wipes pearls of sweat from Stella's forehead. She's still caught in the dark, dreams, nightmares, visions … he doesn't know.

She's in the grip of some rotten disease and there's nothing he can do. It is not her strength that is moving her body. Spasms keep running through her and she's alone in this fight. He can't help her.

He rests his elbows on the bed and his head in his hands. What would she do if she were in his place?

No, he tells himself, she's not alone in this. He _is _here. He remembers that touch is often an important element in healing. It is important for letting people know that you are there. It is important to her.

Carefully, without disturbing the IV-line, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her a little closer. He leans his head on her shoulder. It makes him feel better. He closes his eyes.

He sees a swirl of feathers descending, like a bird of prey in flames. He gasps as they seem to be burning. Churning around and around, golden light everywhere, like a million stars spinning. Her eyes. _Stella._ He tries to hold on to her. _What's happening?_ He thinks that she's looking at him, from the sky, the stars her eyes. Raindrops on the window.

He jerks awake, suddenly shivering, something cold brushing past him. The room is quiet. She lies still.

* * *

Still a bit of a cliff, I don't seem to be able to help it …

And I'll let you know next time what it was the woman said.

Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you can spare a moment more to let me know what you think. All comments are always welcome and appreciated, and replied to if logged.


	9. Divination

**Thank you for the lovely reviews. Also to **_**autumngold, **_**sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. Please continue, I loved reading them, and every one helps me to continue this.**

Black Moon Rising - Divination

Mac feels his body stiffen. Without moving he stretches his senses into the cool and dusky room. Where is he? What could have happened? He feels like something is resting on his head, and the faint light of his alarm clock is not visible. He bends his wrist slightly to decipher the position of the hands on his watch. Past the third hour of the night. He feels the awkward position he's lying in. He remembers snatches of the dream, a cloud of dazzling light. Then it hits him. He falls back down to earth. _Stella._

Her hand has slipped from his. He remembers the sudden feeling of cold. He realizes the weight on his head must be hers. His hand travels up and down the sheet, searching for hers. He finds it, feeling cold. He moves his hand further up, brushing over his hair, slipping his hand between his head and hers. Carefully he sits up and looks at her in the semi-dawn, her cheek resting against the back of his hand. Cool and soft.

She looks pale and exhausted. He calls her gently, no perceptible reaction. He watches intently, dawn stepping closer. And he sees the change. She lies still. No more spasms seizing her. She's taking deep breaths. He calls her again. Her eyelids flicker, and for a moment her eyes stay open, but unaware. Then she's gone again, back in the hold of sleep. He takes her hand again, feels her fingers fit into his.

-o-

Flack picks up the receiver after the second ring. It's Angell.

"Hey. I've just passed through missing persons on the way, and I think there is a woman here who can identify our first victim. Could you bring the folder over?"

A little later Flack enters the other office. Angell sits at a small table together with a woman probably in her late thirties. "So you think you know what happened to Mr. Jones?" she asks immediately, looking straight into his eyes.

He looks at Angell and she nods at him. He pulls a picture of the victim from the folder and hands it to the woman. She studies it carefully. Then she sighs. "Yeah, that's him, Gavin Jones. Can you tell me what happened to him?"

"Unfortunately, no." Angell responds. "May I ask why you didn't report him missing earlier?"

"I simply didn't know. I'm only his cleaning lady. I come in every Tuesday, and I have my own key. It happens sometimes that he's not there, but twice in a row … I got concerned. And I noticed that nothing had been used or moved over the past week."

"I guess you don't really know much about Mr. Jones then. Whether he was ill for example, or had received any threats?" Flack inquires.

"Sorry, no." the woman says, "And I'm sorry if I have cleaned anything away that could have helped you find out."

"Don't worry about that, you couldn't have known." Angell reassures her, feeling certain that if the crime had occurred in Mr. Jones' home, the woman would have noticed and come earlier.

"Imagine that," Flack says after the woman has left, "being missed only by your cleaning lady. Kind of sad, isn't it?"

"Well, it's better than not to be missed at all. But don't worry," Angell repeats with a smile, "that will never happen to you."

"Or you." he smiles back.

-o-

Mac shifts a little in his chair. He feels a faint movement in his hand. "Stella?"

Slowly her eyes open. Dazed she begins to look around. Taking in the room that still lies in gloom, despite the sun being up. The curtains drawn. She recognizes her surroundings.

"Damn," she mutters hoarsely, "not again!"

He replies with a smile and a gentle pressure of his hand. She looks at him, her eyes still worn.

"What did I do this time?" Her voice is sore but she's determined to use it.

"I don't think it was anything you did." he says softly.

"Yeah, well, I get this feeling that I'm attracting trouble. Especially the kind that gets me into hospital." She looks around again with a decidedly annoyed glint in her eyes.

"You know, I once read that God tests people because he thinks they can handle it."

She raises her eyebrows. "Somehow that sounds like there's going to be more coming my way."

-o-

He places the cup of coffee down on the table. He can't shake the feeling that in its taste there is a hint of dishwashing detergent. He looks around at the other people in the place. A cheap coffee shop. He's amused by the fact that the other customers seem to be avoiding him. One of the games that can drive his boredom away, see how close they dare get to him. Most turn away when they see the look in his eyes.

One makes it closer. He looks up. "Hey, Raff! What brought you here?"

"Peter." The man called Raff jerks a hand through his shimmer of hair. "What shouldn't? Since when do you need a reason for something? Especially when it's not you who does it."

"Just sit down." Peter has given up trying to understand Raff long ago. But maybe that is exactly why they are friends, or at least pals.

-o-

Mac opens the curtains and sits down again.

"How are things going outside?" Stella turns to Mac after having looked out the window. "Are Danny and Lindsay talking?"

"I don't know." he shrugs.

"Mac," she eyes him, "have you been here all of the time?"

He feels the still smoldering concern crumble into ashes of defensiveness. He looks down. "No, I did take a walk."

"Because who made you?" She follows his glance over to a bag and recognizes it as Sid's. She smiles. "Mac, really, you didn't have to watch over me all of the time."

She sees him hesitate, wondering if he should tell her. Tell her how he had thought he had seen her. Had she maybe called out to him? And that strange woman he had met in the corridor. And just this case, with some of the victims having been ill too.

"Mac," she looks at him quizzically, "you didn't think I might get staked, did you?" It doesn't sound as funny as she had meant it to. His look chills her.

He swallows. Her hand reaches for his. And he tells her. Feeling the firm touch of her hand keeping the visions at bay.

-o-

Danny turns on his heels to survey the flat. "Yep, looks like a typical bachelor's place." he comments, "Bet it wouldn't be as clean though had the lady noticed earlier that she was working for naught."

Lindsay looks at him. "Dreadful that nobody else noticed he was gone. The neighborhood doesn't seem to be very caring." She bites her tongue, but if her words bring up bad memories he doesn't let it show. "Let's see what we can find."

Danny does another spin. "You take the living room and the bedroom; I take the bathroom and the kitchen, okay?"

"Okay." Lindsay walks into the living room first. She looks at the walls, only a few posters hanging there. A number of pictures on the sideboard. Gavin Jones, alone on almost all of them, even on the ones as a boy.

"Hey," Danny's voice comes from the bathroom, "I think I may have found the drugs he had been taking. Looks pretty random to me, but maybe Hawkes can figure them out. Plus, some are prescription so we can get his medical record."

"Good." Lindsay says. She's going through the contents of a drawer. Some more photos, these together with friends. Why did he decide to put them away? A driving license that looks like it hadn't been used in a long time, shoved into the furthest corner. She thinks of checking his coat, no wallet in there, she frowns. She returns to the drawer. Pieces of writing. They look familiar.

-o-

Adam blinks at the screen. He's worked his way through hours and hours of surveillance tapes Flack and Angell have brought in. He wonders how much longer he will have to hold on, and if he will find something in the end. Thinking of Stella and knowing that she's doing better helps him a little. He blinks again.

Kendall pretends to yawn as she walks past. "The Hot Ticket, sure, maybe if you burned it."

Adam chuckles, much to her delight. She doesn't like to see him sad. He thinks that she's right about the place. Not much going on even on the busy Friday night. It makes him wonder why Mr. Anderson kept all the recordings. Adam looks at the stack of tapes on his left. He looks back at the screen. Maybe …, he zooms in. He turns to another computer and types something.

"Found something?" Kendall is behind him again. "Whoa!" she stares at the other screen. "Well, that explains a few things. Casting calls for vampire slayers."

-o-

Sitting on the bed Stella looks out the window. The sun has wandered from her view a while ago. She thinks about what Mac had told her the day before. Interrupted again and again by doctors and nurses examining her and still finding nothing, he had stayed on and on. Even after he had told her everything he didn't want to leave, and she didn't want to make him leave.

No new victims, and Sinclair would be deterred if he showed up. No hurry to get to the lab. They had watched the sun rise together, coloring a flock of shapeless clouds in a frosty pink. It seems like all the sun can do today; its rays transport no warmth. A knock draws Stella's attention to the door.

"Hey Sid." she greets the ME cheerfully, "Thanks for taking care of Mac."

"Any time." Sid smiles, genuinely glad to see her so much better. "And I've also got something for you." He pulls a laptop from his bag. "They have internet access down in the cafeteria, and I heard you'd like to do some research."

"Oh yes." Her eyes light up, happy about anything she can do to pass the time in this place. And maybe help the case along too.

"Would you like to go there now?" Sid asks. "The coffee can't compare to my wife's but it is quite drinkable."

Stella gets up slowly. The world still spins out of control when she moves too fast. "Can you give me some news on the lab?"

"I'm not sure how much progress they are making, but you got Danny and Lindsay to talk." Her smile tells him he picked a good piece of information. "There's also been some progress with the case. We have the identity of our first victim. Turns out that Gavin Jones too had been ill. He died of a hereditary heart disease, as all of his relatives on his father's side had. No way could I have discovered that after the stake had destroyed most of the tissue." Sid frowns at the memory of some clown getting in his way.

"You think he knew that he was dying?"

"Definitely." Sid confirms. "And Lindsay has determined that he had written that copy of the serenity prayer himself."

-o-

"Over here." Stella calls out as she sees Mac in the door of the cafeteria. She had asked Sid to tell him where to find her. She feels he has been worried enough over the past few days.

He walks over and sits down beside her, glancing at the laptop. "So you got right to it?"

"Seemed like a good idea. And" she pushes aside the concern she feels building up again inside of him, "I feel up to it, really! Whatever it was I had seems to be going as quickly as it came."

He hopes that is the truth, he wants to believe her. "What have you found out?"

"Well, you said that what the woman said sounded rhythmic, like poetry. And also, some of the words you picked up sounded old-fashioned to me. So I thought maybe she was reciting something. There was a line that you remembered, 'e che la mente nostra …', so I simply searched that."

"And?" he's curious.

She hits a button to make the screensaver go away. "I think that all she said was from Dante's Purgatory, Canto IX."

Mac's eyes are drawn to the screen, slipping from line to line, recognizing the ones he had heard before. Gliding onwards to the translation of those bits.

'With gems her forehead all relucent was,  
…

And of the steps, with which she mounts, the Night  
Had taken two in that place where we were,  
And now the third was bending down its wings;  
…

Just at the hour when her sad lay begins  
The little swallow, near unto the morning,  
Perchance in memory of her former woes,

And when the mind of man, a wanderer  
More from the flesh, and less by thought imprisoned,  
Almost prophetic in its visions is,  
…

Terrible as the lightning he descended,  
And snatched me upward even to the fire.

Therein it seemed that he and I were burning,  
And the imagined fire did scorch me so,  
That of necessity my sleep was broken.  
…

Sleep fled away; and pallid I became,  
As doth the man who freezes with affright.'

He looks at Stella, feeling the chill of the last lines again. It all sounds so familiar, so fitting. The lightning, the third hour of the night, the dream of fire, the waking feeling cold.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah." He shrugs the feeling off. "This is just … a very weird … coincidence, right? I mean, it can be nothing else." Suddenly the thought that everything is connected is worrying.

She puts her hand on his. "I don't know what caused this or what she saw in you … but even if it wasn't a coincidence, I don't think it said anything more than what already happened."

-o-

"Dr. Saunders, thank you for coming. I'm Sheldon Hawkes." Hawkes extends his hand to the woman before him, feels it taken into a firm hold.

"Please, call me Michelle." Her voice is kind but resolute. "I believe I can help you identify the woman you had found suffering from Rett's syndrome."

"Thank you, Michelle." He turns around to get a picture of the second victim.

The fellow doctor studies the picture for a long time. "It has been five years since I last saw her; she had decided to try alternative treatments. But it's definitely her, Tamara Winters." She hands the picture back. "Sorry that is all I can tell you. I have her medical file, but it's not up to date, so I don't know if she still has … had the same address."

"That's okay. Having her name is a great help. We can find out the rest." Hawkes takes the medical file from her. "If you could just wait a moment while I make copies of this. We … have a break room where you can get a coffee."

"Thank you." she smiles.

-o-

Finally they have a lead on a suspect. Mac and Stella enter the house together. He's not happy about it. He still feels that she should rest some more, but he hasn't the heart to tell her. _Or maybe the courage._ They walk up the stairs side by side. Several floors. He looks around. Sullen grey concrete, like a manifestation of gloom. The place looks abandoned; he's not sure people can actually live here. Somehow the walls seem to be closing in.

"What are you thinking of?" The color of her eyes draws him from his bleak thoughts.

"Nothing in particular. I just have the feeling that this isn't over yet." he says.

"You might be right." Stella replies, looking around.

They stand in an empty hall. Again he wonders how people can live here. Everything is quiet, everything looks so empty. Mac bends down to examine a piece of paper lying on the ground. Penciled scribbling covering it, faint and writhing like smoke, unreadable. Stella moves further on, towards an open window.

A sudden instinct tears Mac onto his feet. _No._ A man standing behind Stella, where did he come from? Mac runs towards her. _No._ A hidden door. Mac sees Stella's eyes go wide.

"No." He thinks it must have been him calling that.

They are caught in a swirl of hands and arms. Mac suddenly thinks that the walls look like a tornado seen from inside. Then his world tilts, a glimpse of blue.

"No!" It doesn't sound like his voice.

Mac gasps, but the air escapes him, he's falling faster. Flashes of grey, a glance of blue, some green.

The only pain he feels is that which he sees reflected in her eyes. Her pleas for him to stay with her die away unheard.

* * *

… ropes, anyone?

Many thanks for taking the time to read. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think; good, bad, confused …? All comments are very welcome any time, and always replied to if logged.


	10. At rest

**Many thanks for the lovely reviews. I really enjoyed and appreciated getting every single one of them. Please do continue to let me know what you think of this. ****I got rather concerned over the reception of the last chapter but I guess this may not be the best time of the year to put something up. Still, I didn't want to let you hang on that cliff over Christmas, so here's another one :). Many thanks also to anyone who has this on alert or favorite; to **_**autumngold**_** for your review and sorry I couldn't send a proper reply (I'd really love to); to **_**afrozenheart412**_** and **_**lily moonlight **_**for discussion and encouragement; and to **_**kaidiii**_** and **_**iluvcsi4ever **_**for their messages.**

Black Moon Rising – At rest

He glides along with the hurrying masses, all those people passing by oh so close, but what do they know of him? How many of them care whether he's alive or dead? He steps aside as he nears the lab, waits in the shade near the curb. Letting people pass. He's not in a hurry, he needs time to think, think over what happened. And he finds himself still standing there when the pedestrian rush is over. He wonders if anybody noticed.

He sees Hawkes approaching the lab. Looking at him in a way that seems to say, 'What are you doing here?' No, not looking at him, looking past him. Mac turns around. And sees Stella has just gotten out of a taxi. He takes the few steps to her side. Hawkes catches up with him.

"As good as it is to see you, I'm sure you shouldn't come right back to work." Hawkes says to Stella.

"Work?" Stella pretends to wonder, "I spent so much time here lately that I thought this was my home."

A smile smoothes Hawkes' brow. "So the doctors let you go home."

"Yep." she says simply.

"After you threatened them with what?" Hawkes inquires.

She nudges him playfully. "All that matters is that they said I could go. Do you think they would let me go if I weren't okay?"

"Actually, yes." Mac and Hawkes say as one, making her grin.

"But I'm telling you one thing; I won't let you on the case yet." Hawkes continues.

"Can he do that?" Stella turns to Mac.

"Uh, I put him in charge, so, yeah." Mac is not entirely unhappy about that.

"And while we're at it, you're having a day off too." Hawkes addresses Mac, who gives him a look.

Stella chuckles. "Fine, but we're not going before we got an update on the case."

-o-

Lindsay comes into the conference room and sits down next to Danny. "Hey, Montana." he says but there is no time for more before the others enter.

"Okay," Hawkes begins, seeing that they have all arrived, "good to see we're all together again." He looks at Stella and Mac, but his glance also brushes over Lindsay and Danny. "Let's have a look at what we have found out so far. Sid?"

The ME takes the cue. "We have determined that all of our victims have been ill and that in at least two cases their death was the result of the disease they were suffering. Tamara Winters died of the effects of Rett's syndrome and victim number three, whom we haven't been able to identify yet, died from internal bleeding caused by ruptured ulcers. It may well be that Gavin Jones died of his congenital heart disease. And our victim number four probably died of her infection. For either one I couldn't find any indication of another COD."

"But," Mac says thoughtfully, "we could still be dealing with neglect."

"You mean they were left to die?" Adam blushes and blanches alternately.

"That is a possibility, yes." Sid confirms.

"And once they were dead they were dumped and staked." Lindsay involuntarily pulls her shoulders up.

"What about the fifth 'victim'?" Danny puts in, "Do you think they are connected?"

"Well, you could say they were ill too," Kendall points out, "at least in part. The ashes of several people had been stolen from a small crematorium. The owner was too embarrassed to call it in so it took me a while to find it."

Hawkes takes this up, "Danny, Lindsay, that will be the next thing you two look into." They nod in agreement and he turns to Adam. "You've also made some progress?"

"Uh, yes," Adam stumbles up and shows one of the surveillance videos on the monitor, "but I don't think it's going to be of much help. I noticed that several of the Hot Ticket's guests were wearing the same t-shirts, see?" he points to the screen. "And from them I got the address of a website that seems to be encouraging people to do reenactments of Buffy. They also had pictures of our first three victims on the site, but I haven't been able yet to track down who's hosting it. The pictures and several other contents have been uploaded from various locations, some even from abroad, so it's possible …"

"Stop!" Stella suddenly bursts out, "Sorry, Adam. Stop the tape, please." She gets up to take a closer look at the screen. "Damn it." she mutters and turns around to the group, "The one on the left is the guy from the subway station. I should have done something."

"At that point I don't think you had a reason to," Hawkes states, "but now that we have a picture of him let's check if he has a criminal record." He looks into the round, "Anything else? No? Okay, back to work, except for you two." He grins at Mac and Stella.

With a smirk Mac gets up and joins Stella to leave the room together.

"Uh, I'd like to … one more thing …"

"Yes?" they turn to look at Adam.

"Don't be late for dinner. 7pm sound good?"

They look at each other. "That's perfect, thank you!" Stella says.

-o-

When Flack enters the office he sees Angell at his desk, on the phone. He stays at a little distance until she ends the call, but he looks at her inquiringly.

"That was Ms Wagner." Angell informs him.

"Oh, back to the flea-market?" he muses.

"Huh?" she gives him a curious look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Her place reminds me of a flea-market. But I like that. It's fun to stroll over one and wonder what things used to mean to their owners, and good too that for a change it's not related like evidence and crime. All those trinkets and stuff, they're like 3D memories, palpable …. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," Angell replies, "I guess it can work like a trigger. I know I've kept some things just for their sentimental 'use'. What about you?"

"Me too." Flack answers, "So, are we going there?"

"Sorry, no." Angell shakes her head, "She just called to let us know that she saw someone looking like one of the guys from the alley in a nearby coffee shop. So we'll go there and if we're lucky he's a regular and they know some more."

-o-

"What do we do now?" Mac looks at Stella.

"I'd like to take a walk. And yes, I am warm enough. Don't worry, okay?" She rubs his arm.

He smiles and they step outside, buying a coffee at the next kiosk. Then they turn into a quieter side street and amble along.

"Mac," Stella begins, "when I arrived earlier you looked, I don't know … kind of distracted … and somehow like you were about to check if you still have a reflection. What's up?"

Despite the fact that he's really feeling uneasy Mac smiles because she knows him so well. And he knows that he can tell her, however strange it may sound, she won't judge him.

"I know it doesn't really mean anything, but I had this strange dream. It's not the first time that I dreamt of dying, but somehow with this case, that woman, and also the circumstances of the dream, I don't know, I just can't quite get it out of my bones. It all seemed so real, and logical. We were following a lead and then suddenly somebody attacked you. I wanted to help and wound up getting thrown out of a window several floors up." Mac shrugs as if to shake the weight of the dream off his shoulders.

They have stopped walking and Stella looks at him intently. "I can imagine that must have felt weird. Maybe," she places her hand on his arm again, "maybe your subconscious wanted to tell you that there's no need to play the hero. Did I do anything else?"

For a moment Mac avoids her eyes. Seeing the pain in them had been the worst part of the dream. Just as he looks up again he sees a huge snowflake sinking down between them, landing in the coffee cup she's holding. It settles on the contents and they see it quickly dissolve into the blackness. They look up the same moment and their eyes meet.

-o-

"Got everything?" Kendall asks.

"Yes." Adam replies, "This was the last bag. Thanks for coming around and helping me."

"No problem, I think." she says, scanning what looks like masses of ingredients. "I hope you have a big knife."

He smiles and digs in one of the bags, "I have, and I also have this." He pulls a pair of goggles from a bag and answers her surprised look with, "For the onions. And," he turns around and presses a button, "music."

"Let's do the chop." Kendall laughs as a quick rhythm fills the room.

"Oh, one thing I forgot …" Adam suddenly utters, "Wouldn't it be nice if Sid brought his wife?"

Kendall nods. "Yeah, and I bet she's an interesting person too."

"I'll call him."

-o-

"So, what is this?" Flack asks, looking at the huge steaming pots.

"My mother called it _calamares a la romana_." Adam explains.

"Octopus?" Danny wonders, sitting next to Lindsay again.

"In a vegetable sauce, and loads of garlic of course." Adam elaborates.

"Sounds great." Lindsay says.

"Looks great." Angell adds.

"Smells great too." Stella joins in.

"And it tastes great." Kendall confirms.

"Dig in." Adam beams into the round of his friends. And he enjoys the silence that falls as they all eat. A silence that shows him that they enjoy the meal.

"Let's drink to that we're all here together." Mac says after a while.

"May it stay that way." Sid adds, "And it's good to see that we're all here with a special someone. Well, almost …"

"Maybe next time." Hawkes says.

"Have you got something cooking? Come on, spill!" earns Danny a nudge in the ribs from Lindsay and a mysterious smile from Hawkes.

* * *

No cliff-hanger … yeah, that's my Christmas present for you :). So, I hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas, or Chanukah, or whatever you're celebrating, and if you're not celebrating anything have a wonderful week anyways.

Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you liked this chapter. All comments are welcome at any time, and always replied to if logged.


	11. Looking on and on

**Many thanks for the lovely reviews for the last chapter. I loved reading them, so please continue to let me know what you think of this. Also thanks to **_**autumngold **_**and sorry I couldn't send a proper reply; and thanks to anyone who has this on favorite or alert. I hope you all continue to enjoy this. Sorry the update is a little late; I was 'en route' and without internet access yesterday.**

Black Moon Rising – Looking on and on

Adam looks at the pale silhouette of the sun. It looks like it's going to be another cold day outside. He looks back at the monitor so unimpressed by the weather. Sometimes he wishes he could be one of them. He thinks that people who believe that computers can have a bad day are wrong. But he's determined not to have a bad day anyway, not today. Unfortunately his resolve does not earn him any results. He sighs.

"Hey Adam, dinner yesterday was really nice." Kendall's voice raises him from his thoughts, "Maybe we could do that more often?"

"Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it." Adam sounds a bit dejected, "But if we want to do it again in celebration of solving this case it might take a while."

"Are you still trying to find the host of that website?" Kendall asks.

"Yeah." He doesn't know what else he could add.

"Hmm, hard to find, is he?"

"You're making that sound as if it were a good thing …" Adam looks at Kendall inquiringly.

"In a way, if he covers his tracks so thoroughly there's most likely a good reason for that."

"Like being up to no good." Adam imagines.

"Which means that you are on the right track and should keep going."

"Thanks." He's not entirely sure why but it does make him feel better.

"Do you want to celebrate that insight with a cup of coffee?" Kendall smiles, "And we could do a little haunting on the side."

-o-

Flack hands one of the two cups he's holding to Angell and takes a sip from the other one.

"Good?" Angell asks.

He replies with a nod. "Good enough to have another one tomorrow." he says after he has swallowed.

Angell takes a sip of her own. "And good enough to raise hopes that our suspect is indeed a regular."

"I just wish all about this case could be as nice and quiet as our hanging out here hoping that he comes in again." Flack says before taking another sip and scanning the customers of the coffee shop.

"Yeah," Angell agrees, "have to say though; I'm rather unpleasantly surprised by how fast people calmed down after the panic last week."

"Kind of makes you wonder why Sinclair is still pestering Mac. Maybe it's just his hobby."

Angell smirks, "I sure have the feeling that he's enjoying it. But really, he should leave Mac alone. I mean, did he even read the papers? He should have noticed that the info was mainly spread via the net, and that either way Mac or anybody else in the lab did not have anything to do with it."

"Somehow I wouldn't be surprised if it was the perp himself wanting to make sure people know about his deeds. That website Adam found …" Flack shrugs and takes a closer look at a man who has just entered but decides that the description they have doesn't fit.

"That site could be how he finds his victims … and the quiet now could be to lull them." Angell reflects and returns to her earlier concern, "All the more reason to stay alert."

"Good to know then that there are people around who keep their eyes open." Flack raises his cup in a salute to Ms Wagner passing by outside. The elderly woman waves at the two of them.

-o-

Hawkes flips through a folder as he walks down the corridor. He has read all of the facts before but sometimes changing their order helps, sometimes staying in motion helps. He stops dead in his tracks at what he sees before him.

"Daniel, what are you doing?" Hawkes doesn't bother trying to keep the hint of exasperation out of his voice.

The lab tech's head shoots up. "N-nothing! Just …"

"You do know that vampires don't come out into the sunlight?" Hawkes points to a window. "Or do you think that it's not bright enough today."

"That's a myth; they can come out all the time!" Daniel states.

"And you think that their being scared away by a cross isn't a myth?" Hawkes frowns at the huge cardboard cross Daniel is holding.

"Yes."

"But that only works when the cross has been blessed." Sid's voice coming seemingly out of nowhere makes the lab tech's head snap to the left so that he misses the smile appearing on Hawkes' face.

"By which I don't mean to imply that the whole vampire thing isn't a myth." Sid continues, stepping out from behind a door once Daniel has hurried away. "But that would be a pity to tell him after the effort Kendall has put into scaring him."

"Yeah." Hawkes concurs, "Still don't like his attitude. Who hired this guy anyway?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if that was Sinclair." the ME concludes.

-o-

Stella catches a glimpse of the book Mac is reading before he puts it down. "Should have guessed you'd start that now." she smiles.

"I couldn't quite help being intrigued." Mac returns the smile, "Dante provides an amazing picture of the beliefs of his time. I don't really understand why somebody would want to learn it by heart but I'm pretty sure that woman at the hospital did. And the lines she picked," Mac points at the open page, "it was as if she knew something."

"Everything is connected." Stella throws in, "Who knows what her subconscious had access to. You said she didn't really seem to be aware of what was going on?"

Mac nods. "And almost as if she wasn't speaking herself." He looks down at the pages before him again. "In Dante's time people believed that the dreams occurring at a certain time, just before dawn, were really premonitions."

"And you had that dream just before dawn?" Stella asks softly.

Mac nods again.

She continues, her hand on his shoulder, "Even if they were right, I think it has more to do with a certain stage of sleep than with the time of day – and given your usual rhythm I'd be surprised if you reached the same stage at the same time."

"Excellent point." Mac smiles, admittedly a little relieved. He gets up. "By the way, Hawkes has put us on desk duty for today."

"I think I can handle it if we're both on it." Stella chuckles, "And it was a good idea to let Hawkes take the lead. I can't think of anybody else who could keep you in check when I'm not around."

Mac looks at her seriously. "I'm not sure I need to be kept in check when you're not around. I was too worried about you to be able to think of much else." he confesses.

Stella senses the uneasiness he feels because he knows she doesn't like to be fussed over. "That's okay. I'm pretty sure I'd be the same when you're not around." A sudden shiver runs through her.

"Are you okay?" Mac asks immediately.

"Yeah." she assures him, "I'm fine, I just suddenly felt cold. But don't worry, not the way I felt when I became ill."

For a second Mac ponders giving her his jacket but then he simply wraps his arms around her. She stands still for a moment, hesitant, surprised. Then she turns slightly and leans her forehead against his cheek. It is just the kind of warmth she needs.

-o-

Danny folds and unfolds his hands around the steering wheel. It's their second trip to the crematory. Thanks to the fact that the owner didn't call it in there is a lot of useless trace to separate from their evidence. And as much as he realizes he has to face it, the thought of going to this place again, of being reminded of death in a more personal way is one he'd rather push aside. Through the silence of the car he feels Lindsay's look on him.

"Did you know that there are organized trips to crematories?" he says for the sake of saying something. "They show you around the place like they're promoting it. I don't know; I don't want to be cremated … and then imagine somebody watching as you … did you know that the body tends to sit up?" He makes use of the opportunity to shake himself as they stand at a red light. _What on earth made me start this?_

Somehow he feels that the look Lindsay gives him changes. He glances at her, into her warm brown eyes. Just a moment, and they move again, closer to their destination. He stops the car and they get out, the crematory on the other side of the street.

Danny is about to cross when a flutter of white catches his eye. He looks up and sees a pigeon shooting through the air in an aimless tumble. A smack and it changes direction, an explosion of feathers hitting the ground a couple of feet before him. Every car passing lifts it into flapping movement, fighting to get away. Every other car passing reduces it to a pulp. Shrieks he cannot place. Breaks? People? Tires? He stares at the mass of now red plumes, still moving under the impact of cars. Only under the impact of cars. He tears his eyes away from it, searching for Lindsay's eyes.

He can't see her.

"Lindsay?" He looks around, once, twice. "Lindsay!"

He can't see her. He spots another movement caused by cars. He runs towards it, sees her cell spinning on the ground. She's gone.

Danny stands and stares.

* * *

… back to the cliff-hangers.

Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope this chapter was okay. As usual, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think of this. All comments are appreciated any time, and always replied to if logged.


	12. Angels in flight

**Many thanks to all those who left reviews for the last chapter.**** They were lovely to read. Thanks also to **_**afrozenheart412**_** for thoughts and **_**Lost in New York**_** for encouragement; and to **_**autumngold **_**for the review of my one-shot 'As your friend'; sorry I couldn't send a reply.**

**Also thanks to **_**Montana Angell**_** and **_**lily moonlight**_** for the more or less gentle nudge to update :S.**

**Sorry this is so late. I have been getting the feeling that pressuring myself to update hasn't done the quality of my writing any good (no****r me for that matter), so I've decided to take it a bit slower from now on.**

Black Moon Rising – Angels in flight

"You know …" Flack looks at the foam that has sunken to the bottom of his coffee cup a little regretfully.

"You could have another cup?" Angell asks smirking.

"That too." Flack chuckles, "But what I had meant to say was that I think we should show Ms Wagner that surveillance tape on which Stella recognized that freak from the subway."

"You think he could have been one of those in the alley?"

"Well, you know what Mac says: everything's connected. And even if that guy isn't, with that website being promoted at the Hot Ticket I'd be surprised if not at least one of Mr. Anderson's customers is."

"Plus, Adam matched the chair leg to the grease and grime of that establishment." Angell's nose wrinkles slightly. She has seen worse places thanks to her work, but it's decidedly not a location she would choose to go to in private.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a ghoulish ring tone. She rolls her eyes.

Flack holds his cell an inch away from his ear to be on the safe side. "Yes, we will get our lazy asses back to the precinct." he eventually mutters in reply to the contorted stream of syllables that bubbles from it.

"You better not let Sinclair find out that you got that ring tone especially for him." Angell lets out a giggle as soon as she's sure that Flack has hung up. "What's up?"

"A young woman is at the precinct, claiming that she was attacked by a vampire slayer." Flack sighs.

"What? In broad daylight? Can't these freaks at least stick to the myth that vampires don't come out into the sunlight?" Whether that myth is true or not doesn't matter to her at the moment, she's just annoyed.

-o-

Stella pushes a defiant curl back behind her ear. "How could Sinclair think that the photos of the victims that appeared in the public came from here?" She smacks the back of her hand down on one of the pictures before her. "There's such an obvious difference between them and the way we take pictures of a crime scene."

"Yeah." Mac agrees, "But how would he know? He's not a CSI."

"Thank God he isn't. But you're not defending him, are you?" Stella looks at Mac curiously.

"Not even close." Mac snorts, knowing full well that Stella would never seriously think that. "I have even thought of giving some of the real photos to the press. We still have two victims to identify."

"True, but given the fright we've already had over this … it might cause another panic." Stella indicates.

"It might. That's unpredictable." Mac sighs, "You know why I prefer working with evidence to working with people." He returns his attention to the file before him, but looks up once again. "Those present excluded."

"I know that too." Stella smiles warmly, then turns back to the photos herself.

Pictures that were taken with the intent to reveal the truth, not conceal it. Objective, not aimed at rousing emotions. Though the one who took them might have been full of emotions. Danny.

Stella moves on to images of the footprints he has lifted. Two sets. Faint traces of ashes reveal the owners of the shoes have walked the alley after the 'staking'. Owners of terribly common pairs of shoes, and not enough of a print to reveal a wear-pattern. Stella squints at them.

"Was Danny able to follow those footprints anywhere?" she turns to Mac after a little while.

Mac flips open the appropriate page in the file. "Kind of, he noted that they led behind a dumpster and then back again. Not surprisingly no chance to follow them out of the alley though."

"I'd like to see what's behind that dumpster. It might be the magic exit of the alley." Before Mac can ask she hands him the images of the footprints, pointing at the heels of two of them. "See here? Same shoe, same size, but this sole here," her finger is on the image in Mac's left hand, "has a little extra. Guy must have stepped into something …"

"… and brought it along." The distribution of the footprints allows Mac to rule out the possibility of the little extra having been added in the alley. "Great job, I know why Ms Wagner's power of observation reminded me of you." Mac smiles at Stella. "And I'll have to commend Danny too for being so thorough." Mac's cell rings. He glances at the caller id. "Looks like I can do that right now."

-o-

Kendall watches her computer whiz through all the images of the website. She has decided to take a different approach, a less technical one than Adam. While he's still looking for who's behind this she tries to figure out what's behind this.

Bit by bit matches pop up on her screen, possible sources, meanings of symbols. A background story to the images. Her eyes scan through it all, making connections, coming to a conclusion.

"Archangels." she says.

"What?" Adam turns on his chair.

"Archangels. Somehow this website is connected to archangels. It uses all the symbols they are usually pictured with." Kendall explains, "Don't know how that is going to help though, how do you identify a bunch of people who think they are archangels? Even if they are really called Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael …"

"Or Uriel." Adam adds.

"Yeah, but I don't think that's a common name." Kendall looks back at her screen. "Like Selaphiel, Jegudiel, and so on."

"Which is why maybe we should start with them. And you don't have such a common name either." Adam can't resist making the remark.

"Hey …" Her retort is stopped by Mac and Stella coming sprinting into the room.

"Change of priorities." Stella calls out, "Lindsay was kidnapped."

The two lab techs just stare at her. Mac's eyes are drawn to the large screen between them.

"What's that?" he points at it.

"Uh?" Adam tries to shake the stupor off and looks in the direction. "That video was uploaded about two hours ago. Looks like somebody attempted another reenactment but the 'vampire' escaped."

"Find out where that came from." Mac requests.

"What?" Stella looks at him surprised.

_That looks just like my dream._ Mac's cell rings again. "Flack." After listening for a few moments Mac walks to Adam's desk and scribbles an address on a piece of paper. "Get me a picture of that." he points at it and turns back to the conversation with Flack. "You know where that crematory is that Danny and Lindsay went to? We need you there, Lindsay was kidnapped." He pulls his cell away from his ear in response to Flack's reaction.

Mac ends the call with a sigh. Just in time to look at the picture Adam has pulled up corresponding to the address. He recognizes it, the same building as in the video, the same building as in his dream.

-o-

"Now what?" the man looks at his fair-haired companion.

That one rubs both hands through his flaxen hair and eyes the woman lying motionless in the back of the van. "I don't know. Of all the people that could have walked by …" He waves in her direction with one hand. "Sure as hell didn't think she'd turn out to be a cop."

"Do you guys ever think about anything you do?" A third man joins in, not having been with them before.

The two shrug and look at each other like they don't see any particular reason why they should.

"Good thing you don't have to think of breathing." _Or maybe that's a bad thing, for me._ Michael growls inwardly. "Well, let me help you with the thinking part. Peter, Raffael," He looks at first the one then the other. "you are not leaving her here, is that clear!"

He watches them exchange another look which he feels is one of agreement, but still he waits until they get back in the van and drive off.

-o-

"Hey, what are you doing?" Hawkes asks, almost bumping into Danny in the dim light of the locker room.

Danny snaps his cell shut. "Don't really know, I mean, what can I do? I saw nothing, I can't help. What can I do but wait, and scream at myself because I didn't see a thing. Because I was too damn distracted to even notice that she was gone." He lets his arm pump up and down, the cell clasped in it. Wishing he could crash it into a wall, wishing that would help.

"It's only human that you were distracted." Hawkes attempts to soothe him.

Danny glares. "Sure, like it would ever have happened to you."

He's answered by a quiet look. "It could have. I wasn't there so I can't tell. There's something that will get to every one of us. And you know why Mac is so intent on getting evidence …"

"Because people lie!" Danny bursts out again.

Hawkes' voice stays calm, "Because people can be confused. Emotions tend to get in the way of thinking clearly, and also of observing. And it can happen to anyone."

Several emotions are at work on Danny's face. He crumbles. "Sorry I implied that you're not human."

"Don't worry about that." Hawkes says with a faint smile. "I know that I'm a little more cerebral than you. But dealing with your emotions does not just come naturally. It's also something you can learn. And I think you already have. Think about how you normally approach a crime scene."

Danny leans against the cooling metal of one of the lockers. His empty hand comes up to rub the bridge of his nose, remains in the air, pointing ahead as he begins to speak. "When I pulled up at the crematory there was this van right in front of us … white, pretty dirty. I think there were some stickers too."

Hawkes looks pleased. "I'll let Adam know."

"Thanks, I'd kinda like to stick around here for a while." Danny looks at the cell still in his hand and opens it again.

"Who are you trying to call?" Hawkes wonders.

"Lindsay. I know," Danny responds to Hawkes' surprised glance, "her cell is in the trace lab. But I know Stella won't answer it when she sees my caller id, and I thought …" he shrugs, "I wanted to leave a message on her voicemail so she can hear it when she comes back."

-o-

Lindsay tries to open her eyes but they are covered by something. Something covering her mouth too, and her nose. Something soft and a little fluffy, a cotton shirt maybe, she decides as her lips brush against the fabric. Her hands tied behind her back. She tries to remember what happened, how she got to wherever she's now. She tries to feel her surroundings.

_Okay, just because I don't mind eating fried spiders doesn't mean I don't mind lying in … whatever that crap is._

She manages to recoil somewhat to avoid contact with a muggy substance but the stench is still all around. A mixture of various unpleasant smells, to be exact. And every single one of them seems to heighten the others, and be heightened by the lack of vision.

Still she's to some extent grateful for the cloth covering her face. She's pretty sure that none of the stuff around her has ever been on her menu, at least not in the state it's in now.

-o-

"So Mac has ditched you, hmm?" Sid asks as he comes across Stella on the corridor.

"Yes." she grumbles, "That is exactly how it feels. And now you're making sure that I'm staying put."

"Stella …" the ME begins.

"No. I'm sorry, Sid." Stella unfolds her arms. "Look, I don't mind that you guys care. I mean, it's what we do; we take care of each other. It's just that … I don't like the feeling that I need to be taken care of."

"And you don't." Sid points out. "And even if you do occasionally, well, we all do sometimes. Remember when Mac had the flu?"

The memory makes her chuckle. It had not been easy to take care of him. His pride must have been hurt, an ex-marine brought down by a tiny virus. And needing to be taken care of. Though she had done her best not to give him that impression.

"And there may be another reason he wanted you to stay behind." Sid continues, "Danny …"

"Is being taken care of by Hawkes. I think he needs somebody calmer right now." _There might still be another reason, but damn it, Mac, if you're worried about that dream coming true then _you_ are the one who shouldn't have gone to this place!_

-o-

They drive in silence. Mac lost in thoughts, Flack and Angell deducting from the look on his face that it's no use trying to get him to talk. And tell them why he insisted on coming along when everybody else is working on finding Lindsay. So they focus on what is ahead of them. Mac wonders how it is possible that he has dreamed of that building but he comes to the conclusion that he must have been there at some point, during some case, and the image had been stored in his subconscious. _But why dream of it now?_

They climb a flight of steps, walk down a lifeless corridor. Flack stops at a door, a plastic sign on it bearing the number Lilia Henson, the woman who had been attacked, had given them. Mac crouches down to examine the floor in front of it. Angell walks further on.

Mac looks up. _Why is that window open this time of the year?_ Mac shakes his head. _Stop that, it _was_ just a dream._

Before Mac can look down again he hears a door slamming open. His eyes latch onto Angell immediately. She squeaks, a sound of surprise and air being pressed from her lungs by the impact. She seems to be pirouetting with a man of whom Mac only sees dark clothes swirling.

Mac stands frozen, rooted to the spot, like he _is_ caught in some stupid nightmare. He wants to run, he tries to run, but his body just won't obey him. Muscles in lockdown. Flack's voice reaches him like from very far away. An insignificant howl so full of meaning.

They see her fall. _Damn window. _In one heartbeat she disappears from their sight.

Mac's heartbeat hums in his head. Tribal drums. Old instincts, kicking in too late. _What have I done? How could I let this happen._

* * *

Many thanks for taking the time to read. I really hope this chapter was okay, please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts. My muse tends to thrive on reviews. All comments are appreciated any time, and always replied to if logged.


	13. What's in a name?

**My sincere apologies to all for not having updated so long, especially to all Angell fans and **_**lily moonlight**_** for who this story still is. In addition I would like to dedicate this chapter to **_**Montana Angell.**_

**Many, many thanks for all the wonderful reviews I got so far, also to **_**Lonnie **_**and **_**autumngold**_**, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. Thanks to everyone who has this on alert or favorite, and thanks for the nominations of this story for Best Supernatural in this year's fanfiction awards. And thanks to **_**afrozenheart412**_** for thoughts on an OC.**

**You guys rock! You keep me going and I couldn't do this without you.**

**A word of warning: ****some language ahead, I hope it's not too bad.**

Black Moon Rising – What's in a name?

Somewhere in a corner of his vision Flack sees Mac hover, colorless. Motionless. Unable to move. A voice screaming in his head, _do something!_ A desolate whisper, _you should have done something._

_But you can't even move, God, damn it. You can't even move …_

Dark anger swirling inside of him, searching for a valve. He can't direct it at Mac because he feels the same. No, not the same – but he understands. He thinks he understands.

The color of the clothes of that man, who has disappeared from their sight as fast as he had come, seems to be folding around them. Trapping them, muffling all movement. Wrapping the anger into a tight ball of agony inside of him.

_No. "NO!" _It puffs into the air like the gasps of his breath.

He stumbles, ahead a step and stops again. What's the point in moving towards the window? What's the point in anything at all …?

He doesn't want to see it but he needs to, he needs to know. With an effort he turns and passes the shadow of Mac.

-o-

Stella brushes the back of her hand over her eyes. She opens them again and looks around quickly. Nobody seems to have seen the movement. Good. She doesn't want people to think she's not feeling well. She isn't.

There's this hovering presence again, a shadow in her mind. _Mac?_ She whispers into the darkness she feels. _What's going on? Are you okay? _Because this is not about her, not like it was before. She's not feeling well because she senses his distress.

_That damn dream. _Darkness taking shape, she blinks … and it's gone.

She feels for her cell.

-o-

Somewhere in the darkness there is a sound, a sound he remembers, recognizes. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, only that she is the one singing. Enabling him to move. He feels his cell opening in his hand.

"It's happened, it really happened." is all he can say.

And he sinks back onto the bleak grey concrete.

-o-

He feels like it's taking an eternity to reach the door. He bursts through it, gates of hell. He blinks; dazzling, vivid sunlight.

A silhouette before him. He blinks again, slowly adapting to the brilliance. And she stands before him, a little bit tousled, like she has just fallen out of bed. _This has got to be a dream. _Reluctantly he closes his eyes, even if it is just a vision he doesn't want to lose it. He opens his eyes again, she's still there. Giving him a curious look.

Reaching out for him … the second he feels her touch his arms are around her. Solid. Feeling her breath pulsing against his neck. He loosens his grip a little so that she _can_ breathe. Both drawing in lungfuls of relief, sparkling white around them.

"How …?" he manages to ask.

She points to the left where a truck stands, the driver outside, scratching his head as he inspects the tarpaulin and his load, mattresses. Then he looks at the couple, the woman who has just stopped him – by seemingly coming tumbling out of the sky. _Or heaven, _he thinks, _or at least someone from there must have flown along._

-o-

She jerks her hands back from something that feels slimy. _What the heck is this place?_ She strains her senses. _No movement, if I'm in a car it's standing still. If I'm in a car it's in one heck of a need of a wash. Inside out._ She wrinkles her nose, wishes her hands were free to hold her nose.

Somewhere in all of this mess there's got to be something to cut the bonds with. _But the grease and grime that's most likely covered with …, no, not a particularly good idea. Escaping just to get an infection …_

_Come on, you're a CSI, think of a way to get out of here. _But all she can think of is how she got _into_ this mess. Getting out of the car, feeling the pavement under her feet. Looking in Danny's direction. The pigeon, and then … somebody must have come up behind her, somebody big enough to take her out with one blow. Big and fast, because otherwise Danny wouldn't have let them get away.

She wonders how he feels now, where he is, how close to finding her. Did he see anything more than her? _Who got me, and where am I? What's my evidence?_ She strains her ears. It seems quiet around. No human sounds. _Did they just leave me somewhere?_

There's a faint dripping noise somewhere in the background. Rain? _Could also be water pipes. _Reluctantly she lets her fingers reach out a little, what other sense does she have to explore her surroundings?

The slick sensation makes her shrink back again. _You guys are so going to be in trouble when I get out of here! _Then there's another noise.

-o-

"Wait, what did you say the name of that company was?" Kendall bursts out, interrupting Flack's account of the events.

"It said Ramiel's on that truck," Flack replies, "why?"

"Because" she turns around and with a few clicks pulls up some of the information she had previously gathered on the screen, "he was one of the archangels."

"Also often referred to as guardian angels." Angell says, suppressing a shiver that's sneaking up on her. She's glad to still feel the warmth of Flack's arm around her. Glad that she _can _still feel it. Feel anything at all. Flack's fingers pressing into her arm. Because he feels the same. Wants to feel her.

But for a moment his eyes do leave her, and he looks at Danny hovering in the door. Hoping that if there's one, there may be more of those angels around.

"And Ramiel is also the one who presides over true visions." Stella says quietly after having read through Kendall's findings. She looks at Mac, relief glowing on his face too, but she sees the ashes smoldering behind it.

And she follows him when he leaves the room. So quietly he hardly knows she's there. Like she's _his _guardian angel. Still supporting him, when science fails.

"I know there's no use in trying to get you to go home," she begins once they reach his office, "but please, try to get some rest … try to take it easy."

It would make him snort if it didn't come from her. Take it easy, when he feels like they are caught in a primeval fight of good and evil. On the edge of reality. _What's happening?_ It feels apocalyptic. _What are we going to do?_

"Keep fighting." Gently she places her fingers on his temple, where his concern is throbbing. "That's what we'll do. I can't tell what the future holds, but I can tell you we'll put up a fight … and we'll be fighting on the good side, I'm sure."

He places his hand on hers and guides it down over his cheek to his lips. "I have no doubt about that."

It feels like a promise, they seal it with a smile. And he releases her hand.

-o-

"Hey, what's bothering you?"

Hawkes looks up in surprise, not sure what is more unusual, to come across someone on the streets of New York who asks such a thing, or to bump into someone on the same streets whose voice is familiar.

"Hey Michelle." he greets the doctor, happy about the encounter, but "Sorry, I can't talk about it, ongoing investigation."

She nods, understanding. She had never doubted the good sense of those rules. Although they do not take into account one important thing: what about the need of a doctor or a CSI to talk about things when a case hits hard? Who can they turn to?

But you don't always need to talk about the actual problem to find comfort. "Have you always been a CSI?" she asks.

"No." He smiles, "Actually, before, I was a doctor too." _So I changed one world of life and death, and not being able to talk about it, for another._

"And what made you change your mind? It can't have been one being a hard and sometimes lonely job, because they both are." She studies him with her dark and thoughtful eyes. "Do you feel you can make more of a difference as a CSI?"

He smiles again. It warms him how she seems to be able to understand. "Maybe … but that doesn't mean that you can't also make a lot of a difference as a doctor."

It's her turn to smile. "I know, we all do what we can."

-o-

Danny stares at the screen. Adam has really given his best, already having filtered the search results for car stickers according to Danny's admittedly rather broad description. So many still to go through, and he feels like there are just colors and shapes whizzing past him. He closes his eyes, afterimages flicker.

No, it's no use. _Shut up, damn it! She wouldn't give up on you … she didn't give up on you! Though I would have deserved it._

He forces his eyes open again and starts another round. But soon other images get in the way again, of Ruben, Rikki, … Lindsay. He groans. _Lindsay!_

He squeezes his eyes shut. Afterimages again. _Wait!_ The _same _afterimages again. His eyes pop open. Quickly he takes a pen and starts drawing. Doesn't let Stella's voice stop him.

"I've processed all the evidence we could connect to Lindsay's kidnapping." she says carefully, "I don't see what else I could do here at the moment … and … I'd like to take another look at that alley. I hope you don't mind …. It doesn't mean I …"

"Don't worry." he says without looking up, but she hears that he means it.

-o-

She's just entered the elevator when a hand stops the doors from closing. "Adam? What do you want?"

"Come along?" He wishes it wouldn't sound like a question. He doesn't want her to go into that alley alone. Into an alley where somehow someone has disappeared. On a day like this, with Lindsay missing, Angell being knocked out of a window, Mac kind of beside himself … a dead pigeon (_or was it a dove?)_ vampires … _yeah, like hell am I going to be able to protect her, more likely she's going to have to protect me._

But she smiles and signals for him to enter quickly.

On the way down the doors open again. "Hey, how's Mac doing?" Sid asks, looking at Stella.

She's not really sure what to reply to that. "It's hard to say something is not a fact when you _have_ seen it with your own eyes. But he's trying to hold on to his science."

"Yeah, I can imagine. I mean, that case is weirding me out, and I'm weird myself." he gives them one of his lopsided smiles for proof.

They leave the elevator together and Sid meets his wife at the reception. "I asked her to bring some cake, I thought that might do us good now." he explains and gives them a slice each. The cake is still warm.

-o-

"Boom." Danny says. He feels like he's going to blow up.

Kendall turns to him wide-eyed. "That" she points to the screen, "is what you saw on the back of the van?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell." she dips her head into her hands, muttering through her fingers, "An archangel on a truck, the logo of a game called 'Fallen Angels' on the back of a van … what have we gotten ourselves into?"

"Yes." Danny says again, only vaguely aware that the answer is not really fitting. _Is that really what I saw on the back of the van? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? Is this a sign?_

-o-

Stella snaps on her gloves. "Still sure you want to come along?" she asks Adam, both gazing into the dark hole at their feet.

"Yeah." He doesn't give himself time to think about it. "I mean, what is the worst that could happen? Rats …"

"… and foul smells." Stella adds with a smirk.

Adam cringes a little, but he's _not _going to back out. There _is _worse. They climb down into the darkness. Even with their flashlights they can't quite drive the gloom away. Adam tries to shake off the feeling of climbing down into Hades.

Black, grey and green shimmers in the small circles of light as they slowly walk ahead. Shadows everywhere, and then the passageway branches. No way to decide which way to go.

"Maybe we should split up." Stella suggests. "Walk one minute either way, and we should still be within earshot."

The only thing they had heard so far was their own steps, so Adam thinks it safe, and Stella wouldn't suggest it if she didn't think it safe, so he agrees.

He turns left and walks along. He can't walk very fast so one minute isn't going to separate them much.

There's a scratching noise before him. He stands still, the noise doesn't stop._ It wasn't me or my echo. _He takes another step, the noise becomes more intense. _Rats …_ scraping, scratching and shuffling …_ but that would have to be huge rats!_

But no, they can't be monsters. _Trouble is, I'm just as doomed if they turn out to be the bad guys._ He looks at the circle of white on the ground just before him and realizes that it might be a good idea to shield his flashlight.

But before he can do so something slips between his legs and yanks him downwards. He yelps, pain hitting him in the face. And blackness.

* * *

Well, you could say I haven't had a cliff in a long time …

Many thanks for taking the time to read, I hope this was okay, and that I still have some reviewers left … I'll try to update faster again but I have a lot of real life to deal with, and recurring fits of writer's paranoia ('this is all crap'). Anyway, all feedback is greatly appreciated, and I'll reply to all logged reviews.

Polls for the awards are open until Friday, don't forget to vote :), there are lots of great stories and authors to choose from, and it takes just a moment.


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